The Colonel- Series 4- Little Surprises
by ray gower
Summary: Captain Janeway investigates claims that the Borg had allies. She receives disturbing news from closer to home. Then tries to stop a war and takes on refugees with consequences....
1. Origin of the Species (New 02/09/01)

1-27 Origin of the Species

**Origin of the Species**

  


_Home aboard Voyager again, Captain Janeway decides to investigate the claim that the Borg had more than a few allies. She also receives other news, some good, some more disturbing from closer to home...._

_Voyager and the characters aboard her (except the Colonel and additional characters) in this story are copyright of Paramount. No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead._

_The story line and the Colonel are my own._

_Constructive criticism and comments are welcome on e-mail story@rgower.plus.com._

_If like me you like to know why things occur like they do, I would heartily recommend you start at chapter 1-01 Castaway. _

  1. _This story is rated PG13 _

  1. _©R Gower 2001_

  2. Captain Janeway finished browsing Seven of Nine's additions to the records of their activities on the Unimatrix and on the planet Calhard. She yawned deeply, before looking up at the slim figure that was standing at ease, hands behind her back, on the opposite side of the table.

You are suggesting that the Calhards were not unwilling converts to the Borg cause? she asked tiredly. Compiling the notes into Voyagers computer had taken three days and she felt as though she had not slept for that time. Seven, she knew, had not.

The data from the Calhard computer system and its design suggest that they may have been party to the foundation of the Borg, Seven of Nine responded. There is no other logical explanation for its continued existence and maintenance of the system.

The Captain smiled tiredly. Perhaps we had better have a look at a couple of the other assimilated' planets as we pass them? she suggested. We might find proof?

That would be logical, Captain. Seven of Nine sagged a little as she answered, showing her own tiredness.

Okay, I'll arrange something, again the Captain smiled. Now you had better go and regenerate. I know the Doctor recommended 7 days and you haven't completed seven minutes getting this done. You must be totally drained. I'm surprised the Colonel didn't make you. Where is he?

He was working with the repair crew in Turbo Lift 2, Seven answered in concern. He has also failed to regenerate.

I'll deal with him as well! The Captain promised.

Seven of Nine nodded, turned and strode out of the Ready Room, staggering slightly as she did so.

The Captain turned briefly to the next item demanding her attention. The damage report, or the Butchers Bill' as the Colonel always referred to it. The title seemed to be warranted this time; Eight dead, 50 wounded, one hundred thirty Komodan prisoners returned to Komos to start rebuilding the planet after the Borg attack. Extensive damage to almost all the ships systems. It was a wonder Chakotay had managed to get Voyager to Calhard so quickly.

The fact that repairs had been hasty and incomplete had been proved by the transwarp coil rescued' from the Borg scout ship causing more damage to the ships already weakened shields. As soon as they tried to enter transwarp they failed. Voyager was again restricted to sub-warp speeds as repair crews battled with repairs to both shields and engines.

She lay the PADD aside with a shudder, thinking of how close the battle for Voyager must have been. She would have to take a close look at Chakotay's logs. But it would have to wait, she was too tired to look tonight.

The Captain stood and moved towards the door and her quarters. She had almost reached them before remembering her promise to Seven of Nine to make sure the Colonel also rested. With a sigh she turned and set off in search of her nemesis.

  


She did not find him with the work party in the lift shaft, as Seven had claimed. They had dispatched him to see the Doctor, they claimed, after he had been cut by a panel that had been dropped.

A little surprised, the Captain backtracked to Sick Bay. She needed to see the Doctor about Tuvok's injuries anyhow.

Have you seen Colonel Samuels? The Captain demanded immediately she entered.

Not since this morning, the Doctor admitted. He came in to do Tuvok's Vulcan Healing Calisthenics. 

I don't approve of beating a patient up, Captain, he protested hotly. Especially in the name of healing.

We have been through this, the Captain sighed. The Vulcan Healing trance requires physical punishment to bring the patient around. But the damage is so severe it can't be repaired in a single session. 

Despite her acceptance of that, she had been shocked by the level of beating Tuvok had deemed necessary to bring him out of the Vulcan Healing' coma, let alone the Colonel's easy acceptance of Tuvoks demand that he should provide it. She suspected that if the Commander had been paler he would now be black and blue from the bruises.

Is it having any effect? The Captain asked. 

The Doctor shrugged. It is hard to tell, he claimed. Tuvok has been in his trance for three days. He now has some feeling at the bottom of his spine. At that rate he might know he has feet in a year?

Can you speed it up?

The Doctor shook his head. The damage to the spinal chord is severe, he admitted. Nobody can do microsurgery to the level required.

So our best chance for a full recovery, is Tuvok using the trance and having the Colonel bring him out of it every few days? The Captain asked carefully.

The Doctor nodded unhappily.

The Captain turned to approach Tuvok laying on the couch. You know the Doctors opinion? She asked. 

Yes, Captain, he informed her dispassionately.

Can you rebuild yourself?

The damage is severe, Tuvok pointed out. I do not know if it is possible for the Healing' to effect the repair required. I am unaware of a previous success.

There was a silence as the admission sank in.

You should consider a replacement for Senior Tactical Officer, Tuvok suggested finally.

I'm not accepting that we won't find a cure for you! The Captain announced.

That maybe. However for the foreseeable future Voyager is without a Tactical Officer, Tuvok argued logically.

The Captain smiled guardedly. And you are going to suggest a logical replacement?

No, Captain, Tuvok dismissed the idea. The logical replacement is Ensign Kim, he is fully conversant with Star Fleet protocols and has the required experience. I wish to suggest a practical replacement. You should approach Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels. It would help him come to terms with our protocols, whilst we would gain from his unconventional approach.

And I always thought you were not a fan of his? The Captains smile was more open this time.

It is not a question of being a Fan', Captain, Tuvok opined dispassionately. The Colonel has a superior tactical aptitude, it will be a benefit over technical competence.

I'll consider your recommendation, the Captain assured him. Though I suspect he might disagree.

She turned away to continue her search for the elusive Colonel.

Miller, where is the Colonel? She commanded, not bothering with the standard computer tracking systems, but going direct to the core of Voyagers computer and the small Corporal.

You could try Holodeck 2, Miss? Miller responded immediately. St Christophers Church is running. I'll let you know when it is safe to enter.

Puzzled by the last comment the Captain went as directed to the Holodecks.

  


The door to the Holodeck was locked and firmly refused to open for her, even to her command overrides. Silently she cursed Miller and his dedication to his former commander as she kicked her heels for a full five minutes before they opened automatically. 

Cautiously she stepped in and found the Colonel sat in a pew at the front of the small church head bowed in prayer.

It was an act that always puzzled her. With the exception of the Bajorans, worship of deities was not commonly practised by races that gained space flight, they found that gods had little meaning. Nor with the Colonels record, could she see how the God he prayed to giving the forgiveness he seemed to be seeking. Yet the Colonel persisted in offering a prayer and had made it one of the features of the periodic Mess' dinners he and Neelix arranged for the senior crew.

He sat up and turned as she approached. Good evening, Miss.

No She enquired in surprise.

With the exception of the Padre, there are no ranks in a quiet church, Miss Janeway, he explained, a slight smile playing on his face.

But still formality? She suggested lightly.

Of course, he assured her. What can I do for you, Miss?

I promised Seven I would make sure you went to bed, the Captain declared. I don't think you have slept much for weeks!

Wasn't tired enough to sleep, Ma'am. At least, not properly, he declared.

She looked at him quizzically. 

Call it battle fatigue, he suggested sadly. I'm good at winning the war, getting to grips with the peace is more difficult. I can't turn off as quickly as I used to and our activities with the Borg really made me lose control.

Is that why you were working with the repair crew? Trying to keep busy to stop yourself thinking about what you did wrong? The Captain asked. And why you didn't go and see the Doctor with that? She pointed at a hastily applied bandage wrapped around his arm that had dyed red.

Only a scratch, Miss, The Colonel assured her. The only thing I think I did wrong with the Borg was to make it personal.

I think I need to offer you a few apologies though, he continued. My actions on Calhard exceeded my authority and allowing you to come with me in the first place?

The Captain demanded in surprise.

I assumed control without permission. There was no need.

You were within your rights! The Captain exclaimed. I didn't know what to do at the time. If Tuvok hadn't been hurt, or I had my ship in orbit above me, then perhaps I might have argued more. As for coming with you, I wouldn't have missed it for the world. The removal of a serious threat to peace in the Galaxy is quite a feat.

They will be back and I doubt if it will bring peace. There is no universal threat for a while. I suspect it will make it less stable, the Colonel observed mildly. However right or wrong, it is done and I will undoubtedly pay later.

How do you reconcile your actions with your religion? The Captain asked suddenly. Your bible doesn't say make war.

It doesn't say make love either, Ma'am, the Colonel pointed out. Sergeant Major O'Neil used to claim God loves soldiers, he picks up so many'. I think he might be right, so I work on the principle that somewhere down the line he does need us to look after those that take his word too literally.

With that he stood. Good Night, Ma'am. I'll just go and wish Mrs Nine good night as well then I will follow your instructions and get some sleep.

Good Night, Mister Samuels, Captain Janeway tried the phrasing to the Colonels rules as applied in a church, it made her giggle. The term Mister just did not suit the man. 

I don't think I will ever be able to call you Mister anything, she guffawed an explanation to the puzzled look. It doesn't suit you. But I would like you to go over the logs that Seven and I have produced tomorrow, if you can spare the time?

Don't think I could keep up Miss Janeway either, Ma'am, the Colonel admitted marching through the door.

The Captain lingered in the church for a while, taking the time to examine some of the small details the Colonel had started to include in the programme. The details of the stained glass windows, even a few of the markings on the worn tomb stones. Finally she flicked at the pages of the bible on the pulpit. Nothing in the book caught her eye, but she did feel the peace offered by the quiet venue. She sighed and returned to her quarters.

  


The Colonel made his way towards Cargo Bay 2 at a pace that was more than a quick march, but less than his normal crisp double, to bid his wife good night. He had, as the Captain had observed, barely slept since they had been aboard the captured Borg scout ship. He had been living largely on hastily taken cat-naps and he had more than caught up with himself, he was ready for bed. Until now anything longer than a couple of hours and he would wake with a start, shivering with cold, whilst his face had been drenched with sweat. It was, for him, not an unusual state after an extended conflict and he was not unduly worried that he could find no reason for it, though it had taken longer than normal to subside. If he were more sensitive to such things, he might have been more concerned by the fleeting images that had lingered when he awoke.

All he felt now was a need to lay snuggled close to his beautiful bride, feeling her warm body close to his. That was not going to be possible, he knew, as he regarded her solitary elegant form in the Borg regeneration alcove. He wanted to tap in and caress her using the small implant in his neck. But resisted the urge, it would disturb the fragile link she had with the alcove as it busied itself regenerating her implants, downloading, correlating and uploading her thoughts. 

Cautiously he stepped up in front of the pad she stood on, rose on tip toes and kissed her gently on the cheek. Good Night, Love, he whispered. Sweet Dreams.

Seven of Nine twitched slightly but made no sign of having heard or recognised him. He sighed and turned for the door, his quarters and bed.

He awoke in a cold sweat four hours later, cold and feeling alone. The last visions of the dream rapidly receding from his memory. For a few minutes he tried to work out what it was. There was pain there for somebody, he knew that, but he recognised nothing else. He sighed and dressed himself, finally picking up two small rolls and made his way back to Cargo Bay 2. There he carefully unrolled the first, a blanket, forming a thick pad to sit upon on the cold deck. The second was his greatcoat. He fastened the buttons and slid himself in, his legs seeking and finding the arms as he formed a primitive sleeping bag from the heavy coat. Now suitably attired he propped himself against a stack of containers and settled to sleep a dreamless sleep.

  


Captain Janeway gazed fondly upon her senior staff as they trooped in for the morning briefing. She did not know why, but she was feeling exceptionally happy again this morning. It was a feeling that she had had for sometime and she was not about to lose it by looking for the answers.

We'll get straight to business, she declared as they made themselves comfortable. 

I have read the logs regarding Voyagers activities while I was away, and noticed nineteen commendations. I am endorsing them and adding another four. One for Chakotay, Tuvok, Seven of Nine and this time you don't get a choice, Colonel, you are being entered as well, she declared seeing the Colonel start to object.

The damage reports suggest that we will need a couple of weeks to bring the warp engines and shields upto standard to use the salvaged Transwarp Coil again, she continued quickly. It will give us some time to do what Voyager is supposed to do. Explore this sector and gather more data to justify Seven's assertion that a number of races in this sector may have voluntarily joined the Borg. I want to know why. I want two shuttles to do long range reconnaissance patrols of the M' class planets to see how many do have any form of technology and what level. Any questions?

Which shuttles do you want out and who will be the crews? Tom Paris asked quickly.

The Captain smiled. I think you can arrange the flight rosters, Tom. I recommend you use the Valoria and the Flyer as much as possible. They are the most difficult to detect and have the best chance of looking after themselves. You and Harry can plan out flight paths for the shuttles and Voyager. We also need to return Lieutenant Vesa to Komos. I want the plans on my desk by tonight.

Anything else?

Our fresh food stocks are getting low, Captain, Neelix offered. If we are going to dawdle for a while and there is a planet we can land on to gather more, it would be appreciated?

If Voyager passes one and it is safe we will send out the type 2, the Captain agreed.

The Captain asked seeing the commander stir

Only the possible danger of a stray Borg vessel that hasn't got the message it is supposed to be dead, Chakotay suggested.

I think they have more on their plate than us, the Captain assured him. From Seven's scans, we appear to have done more damage than we could or should have realistically expected. They appear to be involved in something of a civil war. We will take precautions. Any positively identified Borg signals are to be avoided at all costs.

With that the meeting disbanded, the crew puzzled by the Captains exceptional mood.

The Colonel delayed his departure as was often his want. You may wish to consider this before you do anything as rash as throwing around commendations, Ma'am, he said quietly, sliding an envelope across the conference table towards her.

What is it? You're not asking me to brig you for destroying the Unimatrix? She asked suspiciously, pulling it towards her and opening it to reveal several sheets of paper.

A Get Out of Jail Free' ticket, Ma'am, he explained as she read them. They are my notification of deputising two Star Fleet crewmen into Her Majesty's Forces, for covert operations against the Borg and a copy of my own report. When you get home, after the euphoria dies down, there will be questions asked about whether it was an appropriate action; to take them on so blatantly. There certainly would be in my time. I'll not let others take a hammering for a personal action.

The Captain smiled up at him, then carefully folded the paperwork up, slid it back in the envelope and pushed it firmly back at him.

You worry too much! She declared. I've told you before. We aren't like that anymore and if there are any comebacks I fully intend to stand beside you. Tuvok and the rest of the crew will do that as well!

Besides, in a way I enjoyed it, she added reflectively.

  


The task of producing crew rosters and flight plans proved to be equally difficult for Tom and Harry, for the same reasons but from different perspectives.

Come on, Harry, Tom encouraged. It is only for five days, and you know that there are only five people on the ship that can fly the Valoria?

I will have to fly the Flyer, B'Elanna has the ship to repair, Seven of Nine is in regeneration and the Captain won't go out immediately. That leaves the Colonel. Then there is the even shorter list of those that actually understand the sensor suite. You are the only one available.

I don't want to be alone with the Colonel! Kim protested. I always feel as though he is judging what I am doing. Like when he tried to teach me to play the piano?

Be fair, Harry! Tom protested. You tried to show off and impress him by trying to show him what you had learnt from the Holodeck tutor. You know the Colonel doesn't read music and he tried to make it up by asking you to write a tune for him!

Then there was the Dilithium expedition I commanded, Kim continued.

You fell from a rock and the Colonel caught you before telling you off for being childish, Tom Paris recalled with a grin. Are you going to bring up the Trilite expedition'? 

Don't you see? he continued quickly before Kim could offer more Colonel catastrophes. You've been trying to impress him in his own backyard, Harry. It doesn't work. In those situations we are never going to impress him by trying to be better than him, because he doesn't have to work at being better. He is impressed by people getting on with what they are good at! It is why the Captain asks his advice.

Tom added confidentially. The Captain is going to need somebody to take on Tuvok's post. I heard Tuvok describing you as the logical choice in the sickbay, but she will ask the Colonel for his opinion. Tom carefully avoided saying who Tuvok had actually recommended.

But the Colonel doesn't like me! Kim wailed.

Tom Paris sighed, shook his head and leaned back in his chair. You're wrong, Harry. The one thing B'Elanna and I have found out, is that the only people he dislikes are those he has to fight. And that is only while he is fighting them. He doesn't even dislike the Borg particularly, unless they are trying to get at Seven, he declared. Or us!

Besides. We haven't had to fire you from a torpedo tube, so it is fair to say he doesn't actively dislike you! Tom suggested with a crooked grin.

Kim sighed deeply. Okay! I'll go, he agreed reluctantly. Until Seven is available. We don't need to land anywhere, so I might survive.

  


The Captain also had qualms when she read the proposals when she was presented with them. She looked up from her desk and studied both officers carefully. 

If she wore half frame spectacles like Cavendish at the Academy, Kim reflected, they would be at the end of her nose and she would be peering over the top of them as she dissected him.

Are you sure, Mr Kim? She asked pointedly. I know you don't get on particularly with the Colonel?

There is nobody else that can work Seven's sensor suite properly, Kim pointed out guardedly.

I'm glad you aren't going to let your personal differences get between you then. The Captains smile was genuine. 

Let me give you some advice, Ensign, she added brightly. Don't try and impress him. It doesn't work. He will accept requests for action, but ask for and listen to his advice. If it is something he can give he will offer it and it will be right, otherwise he'll tell you. I've learnt that the hard way, you don't have to.

The plans are approved, the Captain declared finally, handing the PADDs back. Start in the morning.

  


I hope you know how that pile of electronic Doings' works, ensign? The Colonel greeted Kim happily the following morning. Because apart from the cameras I haven't a clue! It is all Mrs Nine's department.

Kim grunted a reply that sat somewhere between non-committal and distaste. It was 08:00, breakfast had been all but inedible and it had been a bad night. He had spent most of it struggling to understand the finer points of Seven's modifications and enhancements to the complex sensor suite. The one thing that had become evident from his study, was that Seven had picked up some of her husbands distrust of computer controlled and automated systems. All but the most basic sensor sweeps seemed to be controlled by a vast set of small, manually applied computer programmes. All were no doubt strictly regimented and ordered, but all were listed using strictly efficient Borg encoded files. He knew he was going to struggle to understand them quickly.

The Colonel, noticed the wild look Kim was giving the console that surrounded him and grinned, under no delusions as to its reason. I suggest you give it a good work out when we are airborne, he suggested mildly. Mrs Nine's shorthand means nothing to me either and her manual went the same way as the gold plated ashtray. All I can say is that there are enough tweaks in there to smell out a pot of fresh tea at a range of a dozen light years and can warn of Mr Neelix's cooking from twice that. Shall we go? He led them into the ex-Valorian fighter.

Silently Kim nodded, sealing the hatch dutifully as the Colonel brought the pilots station to life.

Satisfied that all was well with his instruments, the Colonel looked back at Kim. All instruments and engines report ready. Permission to launch, Ensign?

The question jolted Kim. He had not expected the Colonel to ask for permission to launch. It's your ship, he growled.

And I am responsible for you and its safety, the Colonel admitted. But you are sat in the mission commanders seat. I go when you say we are ready.

I'm ready, Kim agreed.

Gently the Colonel eased the craft from Voyagers hanger, then experimented with the controls to satisfy himself with their response before checking with Kim again for course details. Dutifully supplied by the surprised Kim. The Colonel seemed to be going out of his way to show a subservient role.

It was a role that plagued his mind and he challenged the Colonel on it again as he settled himself for the long flight ahead.

Look, Ensign, the Colonel explained patiently. My brief is to simply drive where I'm told and keep you safe for whichever of the Delaney's is talking to you at the moment. Yours is to tell me where to drive to, have a peek at whatever is there, then tell me where to go next. I could simply fly rings around Voyager for the next five days and I will be doing my job and to be honest it is about all I am capable of on my own and want to do for personal reasons. But we have things to do, places to go and as you are the only one here who can work the navigation system properly. This is your mission. He nodded gently towards Vesa where he sat quietly in the spare seat.

With that he leant back comfortably in his seat and seemed to drop off into a light doze that precluded further conversation. Reluctantly Kim settled to decode the command routines that Seven of Nine had added to the sensor systems.

  


From the ready room view screen the Captain watched both shuttles wink out of existence as they went into warp on their respective missions with some misgivings. She did not like sending shuttles on long range missions without Voyager being able to support them. But it was necessary if they were to fulfil her decision to find out more about the history of the Borg while her ship was crippled. 

The Valorian ship was a particular concern. Not that there was any imminent danger in the mission. She trusted the Colonel not to allow himself to fly into obvious danger without reason. It was that Kim and the Colonel were not a good partnership at the best of times. Five days alone together was going to be hard, even for the generally equitable Colonel.

Reluctantly she turned away to other matters and Chakotay who was sat comfortably in an easy chair. We need to find a replacement for Tuvok, she declared. At least until he has recovered. Tuvok suggested the Colonel, I think he is right, but I doubt the Colonel would accept. She smiled ruefully.

There is Harry, Chakotay pointed out. He has the experience.

But not the drive, the Captain added sadly. Everything used to be so easy. Perhaps we should discuss it tonight over dinner?

Chakotay looked embarrassed. I have a date tonight, he confessed.

Oh? Who with? She asked quickly in surprise.

It was Kathryn Janeway, not the Captain, that asked the question. Chakotay sensed that immediately. It made him change the subject quickly.

B'Elanna wants to take the mains off-line to carry out some reinforcements on the power couplings, he said quickly getting to his feet. I told her at 10:00. I'll look at the crew logs and get some proposals together for potential replacements for Tuvok.

He turned for the door and fled, leaving the Captain a little hurt and pondering reflectively.

  


The Delta Flyer hissed low and quietly over another silent planet as it scanned for signs of civilisation. It was the third day of the five day mission and this was the sixth planet Tom Paris and Megan Delaney had surveyed. It was starting to look as though it was going to be as big a wash out' as the other five. All had failed to show any form of life, civilised or otherwise, and Tom Paris was getting bored with the trip. 

With her ability to talk the hind leg of a donkey, Megan Delaney was not a perfect partner for a two man expedition. He yearned to get back to Voyager and B'Elanna's broody silences. Even a non-communication match between Tuvok and Seven of Nine, where they simply did what they had to do without saying anything at all, would be better company than the constant gale from the back seat.

I'm sorry, Lieutenant, she said contritely. I'm certain I picked up a signal this time!

There had been three signals' so far. The first had proved to be from a Lithium eruption on a K class planet, it had thrown up so much signal clutter that it could be excused from a cadet, but not from an experienced ensign. Delaney had apologised profusely, citing her unfamiliarity with the Flyers sensor suite as an excuse and lack of Away Mission', experience as another. The second had been an atmospheric Ion discharge, again almost unpardonable. The third had been more promising, he had seen the brief signal himself. But after nearly two hours fruitless scanning of the dead planet that the signal had seemingly originated from they had given up.

I'll do one more pass, Tom Paris decided gruffly. If there is nothing more positive, we'll mark it as another planet wiped out by the Borg. It does look as if there might have been life there once.

Again he pitched the flyer down for another low pass. At two hundred metres he levelled out and they skimmed over the surface. This pass was over a slightly different course to the previous two. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something from the cockpit window. It prompted him to turn the Flyer sharply to get a better view, the manoeuvre eliciting a loud complaint from his co-pilot as she was pitched from her seat.

it was Toms turn to apologise. I caught sight of that. He pointed from the window at a rectangular patch on the ground. It can't be natural it's too regular. It can't be a ruin, otherwise it'd be overgrown like everything else.

It looks like green painted concrete, Megan admitted, peering over his shoulder. But there is still nothing on the sensors!

Tom Paris thought for a moment. I'm going to set us down, he decided. We might get a better idea as to what it is at closer quarters. So saying he brought the Flyer to land within 100 Metres of the pad.

If he had been as cynical, or as cautious, as the Colonel, he would have landed further away and examined the target and its surrounds with more circumspection. He would then, perhaps, have seen the markings and realised what they meant, he admitted that much later. As it was, the sensors showed no intelligent life and it was difficult to give up on a life time of trusting instruments and the Delta Flyer landed across the marks, effectively hiding them from view. He might have stumbled across a number of other, better disguised, features as well.

Megan Delaney examined the concrete pad carefully with a tri-corder. Sand, lime, alluvial gravel and metal reinforcement, polyurethane traces. Possibly about ten years old,, she declared finally. In short, your ordinary reinforced concrete pad, measuring twenty by ten metres, painted olive green. Nothing exciting.

Then who put it here and why? Tom Paris demanded in frustration.

Megan shrugged. It was her sister, Jenny, that had the imagination.

They spent another two hours, carefully examining the strange pad and its surrounds but found nothing that would explain it. Finally Tom Paris decided that he had enough. They were not going to find an answer on the planet and elected for a last sensor sweep from the Flyer before they continued the mission. 

It was a mystery that he decided not to bring up on Voyager unless there was something more positive. Otherwise, with the Captain in her current mood, she would insist on bringing all of Voyagers sensors to bear on an otherwise uninteresting ball of mud. It would, he decided as he kicked a blackened sod, be a waste of time.

Only Megan's scream of alarm made him look up. Outside the Flyer stood a dozen small creatures. 

They were comical, almost insignificant, bald, barely two feet tall, as thin as match sticks and vaguely humanoid, their skin almost translucently white. More noticeable were the eyes, or rather the dark holes where the eyes should be, he found that un-nerving. Tom Paris could have stepped over, or on them. As it was, both sides stood and faced each other, both unsure as to what they should do. 

Finally Tom moved, trying to force a path through them, then staggered as he felt a sharp pain in the calf. He fell, dragging Megan with him, as his leg went dead and failed to support his weight anymore. As soon as he hit the ground he struggled to sit up and was set upon by more of the small creatures. Feebly he struggled to brush them off, sending several flying, then his arms started to suffer the numbness of his legs. He slumped to the ground for a final time, limbs too numb to move. From there he watched mesmerised as both he and Megan were trussed in fine rope and dragged, feet first, into a passage that opened for the small aggressors as they approached. From there it was dark and the only guide he had for distance was the number of bumps his head received as he was dragged.

It felt like a long way. Long enough for Tom Paris to wonder if he was going to have hair on the back of his head, before both of them were pushed into a small room and left, still bound, on the floor. 

Laying trussed as he was, Tom found that there was some light. A thin pulsing phosphorescence emanated from the walls, it allowed him to make out dim indistinct shadows of shape and colour as his eyes adjusted. From his trussed position he could just make out the wide and frightened eyes of Megan Delaney laying beside him and watching him. He suspected his were just as large and round.

It was at this point that some feeling started to return to his limbs and he wished that it wasn't. 

The creatures, whatever they were, had been efficient in the task of binding him, the bindings linked the elbows tight together behind his back, wrists and thumbs bound tight together, then to the waist. From there intricate lashings bound his legs together, also tightly. Altogether it prohibited movement and was designed to start uncomfortable and become more so as time went by.

"Megan, are you with me?" he whispered.

He saw her nod. "Yes," she whispered.

"Are you bound as tight as I am, I can't move at all?"

"I didn't struggle like you. They're not cutting. I'm trying to ease them," she claimed. "But if we get free what do we do?"

"Get comfortable," Tom grunted.

Voyager will come for us. Won't they? Megan asked in a frightened whisper. I mean the Captain and the Colonel won't leave us here, will they?

Tom said sharply. It was the only thing he was sure of.

  


Captain Kathryn Janeway stalked quiet corridors, her good mood of several days ago had vanished, as did almost every crewman when they saw her approach, partly in embarrassment but mostly in fear of the fixed scowl she was wearing. She was now fluctuating from irritability through despondency and into plain jealousy. The reason for the change was obvious to most of her officers, she had discovered who Chakotay's date had been the other night, Ensign Llinos Abbott.

It was not as though there was anything indecent or wrong about the fact that Chakotay had invited Abbott to share an evenings entertainment on the holodeck, she had done it herself with other crew members. Though the Captain thought that the venue Chakotay had chosen could have been better selected when she had surreptitiously investigated the holodeck logs. Brains' was, in her estimation, too cosy for a simple friendly meal. The fact that he had used it several times did not help either.

She accepted Abbott's uncharacteristically brave performance during the combat with the Borg deserved much praise and encouragement, but not, she felt, with secluded dinners with her second in command.

Chakotay was hers, just as soon as Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant and she no longer had to be strong for her crew. She had promised herself that, as soon as her fiance Mark had told her that he could not wait for her return. She had never told him of course, even private secrets like those soon became universal knowledge on Voyager. But she thought he had managed to magically sense it and accepted it as being right for the ship.

It was unjust, she decided. She had been almost forced to watch the Colonel and Seven as they actively displayed their love for each other on Calhard. That had hurt in itself. The fact that her previously unemotional Borg, was now so clearly prepared to make an exception for the Colonel and openly show affection for someone. A woman that had been so isolated from feelings, she had been able to openly make a running diary of Tom and B'Elanna's activities as mere scientific observations. Then had dismissed the whole concept of love as an irrational and inefficient use of time, despite the Captains assurances otherwise, before finding the real value of the subject when she had run head-on into it with the Colonel.

That opened the spotlight on Tom and B'Elanna. Their marriage was still somewhat stormy, but they still seemed to be making it work. Then came Harry Kim and his off and on relationships with the two Delaney's. Winston and Kala, a whole raft of names flitted across her mind as examples of her crew that were finding solace and comfort in each others arms. The only names that she could think of that weren't involved, intimately or otherwise, were Naomi Wildman, Neelix and Kathryn Janeway.

Her mindless wanderings led her into the Mess. It was late and the only other occupant was Neelix.

he acknowledged her cheerfully. I was just closing up for the night! Can I get you anything?

She demanded, her irritation showing. Strong and black!

Ohh! I've just emptied the last of the pot down the recycler, he apologised. 

I'll have to replicate a new pot. Are you sure I can't get you something a little stronger, or something to eat? He offered picking up the Captains emotions with a practised yellow eye.

Just the coffee, Captain Janeway hissed. Then forced herself to add. as she hid herself away at a corner table.

Seemingly oblivious of the Captain's sharpness, Neelix busied himself with the replicator, bringing the resultant pot of coffee to her. The Captain's hopes that Neelix would disappear again, to leave her in peace with her misery were quickly dashed, as he sat himself opposite her and poured two mugs.

A penny for your thoughts, Captain? he asked gently.

She looked at him sharply. The expression was one that the Colonel was fond of. If it had been said by the Colonel, she would now have been faced with the quietly concerned and expectant stare that caught her eye and held it, no matter where she looked. The steel grey eyes silently digging through the most stubborn defences until her nerve broke and she was forced to admit to whatever was causing her concern. It seemed to work on even the most difficult of subjects, witness Seven of Nine. Thankfully Neelix was not that good. He shrank from her glare.

I'm sorry, Captain, he apologised quickly. But you seem to be preoccupied. I thought you might like somebody to talk to?

The Captain gave the Talaxian a wan smile. Are you trying to be like the Colonel as well? She asked.

He hasn't got the monopoly on knowing when people are upset, Neelix commented, and the whole crew knows you are unhappy.

Again the Captain gave a tired smile. I've been feeling a little under the weather, she excused.

Perhaps you would like me to call the Doctor? Neelix offered innocently. We can't have the Captain ill, can we?

I don't think the Doctor can do much for me at the moment, the Captain sighed sadly.

You know, Captain, Neelix said, suffering from one of his rare glimpses of inspiration. I once thought I had lost something important. In fact, I was sure it had been stolen and I worried about it for months. Then I went and actually looked for it and found it was where I had left it all along. After I had accused everybody I met of stealing it, as well! Perhaps you should try looking?

The Captain stared at him, deciphering the meaning until it dawned on her. She swallowed the remains of her mug quickly. Thank you, Neelix, she declared stonily, getting up. I'll bear the advice in mind. She left the Mess hurriedly heading for her quarters. The idea that Neelix had planted, seemingly so innocently, also hurt.

  


Chakotay peered around the door frame of his quarters guiltily as he opened it in response to the incessant chimes. Whoever it was, he knew he was going to regret it sooner or later. He cringed when he saw Ensign Llinos Abbott. What had started as a small act of encouragement and care for a shocked and dazed ensign, had started to take on a whole new world and meaning and he was not certain if it was appropriate.

Not disturbing anything am I? Ensign Abbott asked confidently but quickly.

I was just about to turn in, Chakotay admitted sheepishly. I'm on the early shift tomorrow and I keep expecting the Captain to turn up at the door. What can I do for you Ensign?

I was bored. I thought I might come and benefit from more of your experience, she explained hurriedly. Chakotay did not miss the nervous lick of the lips as she stepped past him, it made him nervous.

I thought you had been trying to avoid me? She suggested. After our dinner the other night. I never realised that you were as lonely as I was. I always thought you and the Captain were getting together. But now?

In my dreams, Chakotay admitted under his breath. 

Look, Llinos! He tried to explain. You are a lovely girl and I think I could get very attached to you. But I am not as quick as that. It takes time!

I don't want to lose the time! She hissed. I'm not Seven of Nine, but... Suddenly she was upon him, arms around him, her mouth seeking out his in a passionate kiss.

For a few moment Chakotay resisted, then sank into it, before breaking away again, embarrassed.

He held her at arms length in mild shock at the actions of the previously timid ensign. From the ships Mouse' to wanton ships Vamp' almost overnight was too much.

Llinos, stop! He urged. You don't have to try and catch somebody like that!

It worked for Seven, she claimed petulantly, struggling to release herself.

Yes. But you aren't Seven. You didn't have her upbringing and haven't had to struggle to be accepted, he pointed out. And I'm definitely not the Colonel. I'm not as inhibited or as scared of my feelings as he was! Hell! I even know what they are!

He could see the lip quiver and eyes water in hurt. 

She might be becoming a vamp, but she did not have the control for it yet, or perhaps she was a good actor. Tears can break a mans heart no matter how hardened, Chakotay relented.

Just for company, he agreed, and not too long. I really do have an early shift. Can I get you a drink? Coffee, tea?

she declared with a smile and wrapping an arm around him. I have the rations!

Any reply that Chakotay could make was made irrelevant by his communicator bursting into life with Ensign Carver's calm and controlled voice. Captain to the Bridge. Commander Chakotay to the Bridge. Immediate!

Simply for Carver to be summoning the senior officers, there had to be a problem, Chakotay realised. He had seen the unruffled Ensign calmly and quietly piloting the ship without a word of command while flames flared around him, panic was not his style. He released Abbott and ran out of his room and for the turbo lift. The Colonel had some answering to do when he got back, he decided as he ran.

  


He almost collided with the Captain as they both hit the lift together. What is happening? She demanded, a flash of anger in her eyes as she glared at him.

I don't know, Chakotay admitted breathlessly. But Carver wouldn't call us if there wasn't something serious.

They emerged from the lift and diverged as they paced quickly towards their respective seats.

Partial SOS received from the Delta Flyer, Ma'am! Carver announced, briefing them quickly with clipped monotones. The signal was interrupted. Course set for last reported position at full impulse. Estimated arrival eight hours. Engineering advise six hours before full warp capability. Requested long range Astrometrics and Tactical scans for the region. All stations report ready.

Valoria and the Colonel? The Captain asked through gritted teeth. This was the worst scenario possible. A shuttle in distress and Voyager not in a position to help them immediately.

They have been advised, Carver agreed. Both shuttles were at the extremes of their flight paths. Valoria will be about two hours behind us at maximum warp and they will be at the extremes of endurance. I have asked them to hold for further instructions.

The Colonel offered to get out and push if something broke and you thought he was required? he added, managing to extend a little lightness into an otherwise bad news day.

Thank you, Mr Carver, the Captain managed between still gritted teeth, then allowed herself to relax a little. The ensign had predicted and executed her orders perfectly and it didn't help. Advise the Colonel of our new heading and arrange best course for intercept.

She hit her communicator. B'Elanna, how much can you reduce the time to warp by? Remember it is Tom we are trying to save? It was a churlish statement, but she was still in that sort of mood.

I know, Captain! B'Elanna hissed in her fury. We are working on it. Out!

Anybody else you want to upset, Kathryn? Chakotay asked reproachfully. You know it won't make a difference to what B'Elanna will do to get warp drive back?

The Captain glared at him. One of my prime deck crew is in Sick Bay, a cripple. Another is in a far corner of the sector. The third has disappeared and I can't get to him. Who's upset? She snarled.

On the other hand, Chakotay observed. You have just upset the best engineer in Star Fleet and the crew around you are second best to nobody.

She glared at him again, her hand reaching for her communicator. It stopped as she fumbled with it and changed her mind. Then she silently rose to her feet and stalked towards her Ready Room. For a few minutes the bridge crew stared at each other in disbelief at the display. The Captain had been unusually sullen for a couple of days, but they never imagined she would be like this. With a quick nod Chakotay stood and approached the Ready Room, releasing the Bridge to Carver again as he passed through the door.

  


Captain Janeway entered her Ready Room breathing hard. Normally there was the simple and easy confidence of the Colonel, or a couple of quiet words from Chakotay. Both could give her everything she needed to maintain control of herself when one of her family' were in trouble. Now the Colonel was half a sector away and she was not sure that gentle words from Chakotay would go far.

I didn't here you knock? She snapped as Chakotay walked in.

Would you have answered? Chakotay countered. What is wrong, Kathryn?

I've known you too long, Kathryn, Chakotay observed. You aren't like this over 

There is a crew out there that is wondering why you ran out on them. You almost ripped B'Elanna's head off on the intercom and you haven't said two words to me for the last three days?

Yes! I mean. No! I mean, I don't know! Kathryn Janeway sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. 

"Everything is going wrong!" She blurted suddenly. "My Security Officer is a cripple and two of my crew are in danger. On top of that I think I am losing something I never appreciated I needed!"

"What is that?" he asked gently.

"Time!" She declared.

Chakotay was surprised by the answer. It was not the one he expected. Not that he knew what he had expected, he reflected. He waited hoping for something more, but finally asked. "Time for what?"

"Time to get my ship and crew home safely, then have the opportunity to be something other than 'Captain Janeway'. I'm tired of this journey, waiting for it to end!"

"Then why wait?" The question was quickly asked but softly spoken.

"Because I can't do both and it might be too late!"

"I don't see why?" Chakotay opined.

Kathryn Janeway looked up at him, her brown eye's now soft with tears. "Is it?" She asked. "We've been out here seven years and it doesn't feel as though we are achieving anything, except one narrow escape after another. I'm beginning to think you might be right, we will never get home!

That was over five years ago! Chakotay protested. We had barely crossed a thousand light years and it looked as though we were doomed to spend the rest of our lives together on a planet. Look at what we've achieved, the data that has been amassed. We are over halfway, Kathryn!

But you still think we won't. That is why you are courting, isn't it?"

Chakotay almost laughed. "If you mean Llinos Abbott. Yes, she has become a surprising woman," he declared with feeling. "And yes I am tempted. But it is nothing like the rumours claim!"

"It isn't?" She challenged cautiously. "You are within your rights to date or otherwise engage with the crew. It isn't as though you are the Captain and need to keep a distance for appearances."

"No!" He assured her gently. "She needed help to come to terms with things. We've had a couple of dinners together, some were in a romantic setting and I was tempted. But I'm not sure we have anything, despite how it looks. I am not the Colonel, I can make my own decisions as to who I care for."

There was a weak smile forming on Janeway's face, a smile of relief. "No, you're not," she admitted.

"But perhaps you and he are not so very different?" Chakotay suggested.

"Meaning?"

"You are still scared of letting go your emotions, accepting them then acting on them. The Colonel has learnt, why not you?" He asked. "Don't remind me that he doesn't have command, because that doesn't work. I think half the crew have tried to impress him, one way or other and that includes the Captain. It is time she learned to relax properly and not carry everything on her shoulders."

I don't! She started to protest.

Not as much as you did, Chakotay admitted quickly. The Colonel simply lifts it off of you when he can deal with it, sometimes leaving you dangling.

"And the Second Officer?" There was a more confident smile on the Captains face this time.

He does many things that I am supposed to do, better than I can. I'm not sure if the converse is true," Chakotay admitted with a shrug. "But I am trying to learn. He doesn't want my job and wouldn't take it if it were offered."

"He doesn't think he can do yours either," he added. "And I agree with him."

"He could do it with his eye's closed," Kathryn Janeway laughed, suddenly breaking from her misery. "Anything he couldn't do, he'd simply pass to somebody who could. That is his definition and it works. He simply doesn't want to because we're friends."

Chakotay's smile also broadened considerably. "Perhaps," he agreed. "But shall we resume our stations, before we find Carver and Winston decide to demonstrate how good they are?"

He led her back onto the Bridge.

"What are we waiting for?" She demanded resuming her seat. "Chakotay says you are second best to nobody, let's find my nobody's!"

It elicited a scowl from Winston in the pilots seat, which broadened into a smile as he saw the Captains own smile. It restored the confidence that had been dented before by her hurried departure. "Aye, Ma'am!"

  


Some hours later Voyager slowed to quarter impulse as she entered the system that housed the Delta Flyer's last known coordinates. At this point caution was considered necessary, there were no detectable emissions, not from the Flyer or whatever had attacked it and its crew.

"I am picking up some debris, Captain?" Kala reported uncertainly. "It doesn't belong to the Flyer though?"

"What does it belong to?" The Captain demanded.

"I don't know," Kala admitted. "It looks like depleted Uranium?"

The Bridge looked at her in surprise. Uranium had not been used in the Federation for hundreds of years, it was too weak and dirty for continued use for power or weapons. She shrugged at the attention. "I only interpret the readings," she commented defensively. "They say it is Uranium! And this is the Delta Quadrant!"

The Captain smiled. "So what is it from? Could the Flyer have been attacked, if so, is it possible that Tom managed to escape or destroy the attacker? Keep scanning."

"There is no warp trail out," Kala responded a short while later. "Not enough debris for a ship to have been destroyed, there are some small traces of tritanium alloys, but again not enough for the Flyer."

"No sign of the Flyer on the surface of any of the planets," Carver chimed in. "At least not at this range, the atmosphere on the Class M is reflecting most of my scans. We need to get closer for something concrete, Ma'am?"

"Very well," she decided. "Shields and phasors up. I want continuous full spectrum scans run for problems. Take us in to high orbit, please, Winston."

No sign of the Delta Flyer, Ma'am, Kala announced after Voyagers third orbit of the small planet.

In fact it looks thoroughly innocuous, Ma'am, Carver added in disappointment. Largely grass plains, small shrub like trees. No oceans for the Flyer to crash in, at least none deep enough to hide in.

Then where has it gone? The Captain demanded in frustration, ready to tear her hair out.

There are some pretty deep craters on the fifth planet, but there is no atmosphere. We may have missed something in those? Carver suggested. 

Set course, we'll have a look, the Captain agreed.

I have an un-natural structure, Captain! Kala almost screamed as Winston turned Voyager for the short interplanetary trip. It just appeared! She added as way of explanation.

What is it? The Captain demanded, now close to bouncing in her seat.

I don't know, Ensign Kala admitted. It just flickered as I swapped the sensor arrays. I'm trying to duplicate it.

Sensor glitch, the Chakotay decided. I'll have Seven do a full diagnostic when she is up.

NO, Sir! Kala protested. It was real! Please, Ma'am, two minutes?

The Captain nodded a cautious agreement and watched as Winston turned Voyager towards the coordinates Kala had silently provided.

Got it! she declared a moment later. Concrete! There is a concrete structure on the planet!

Winston, take us into orbit. Chakotay, I want a full Away Team. The Flyer is down there and I am going to get it and them back!

The next words Kala uttered were ones of alarm. Small object has been launched! Intercept course! Her hands were now flying over her console as she struggled to identify it. she offered initially. No sensor readings, she dismissed the solution just as quickly.

It's a missile! Carver interrupted.

Avoidance pattern Delta-Foxtrot, Winston spat instantly thumping the pilots console and rolling Voyager into a steep climbing roll. Sorry, Ma'am! He added. He had pre-empted a command from the Captain. The Colonel..

I know Ensign, she assured him unthinkingly as she watched the dark form take shape on the view screen. It did look like a missile, she decided, long and thin with control fins. As she watched it started to turn, propelled by an as yet unidentified force.

Three more have been launched, Kala advised, settling down to the task of tracking the hostile items.

Permission to release weapons, Ma'am? Carver prompted.

Do it!

A thin phasor beam struck out at the nearest missile. It missed and the Captain looked back at him reprovingly.

The phasors are too slow, Carver exclaimed. I'm having problems targeting, their flight is non predictive!

A broader beam shot out as he tried to adjust for the errancies of the small missiles flight path. It missed again.

They are picking up targeting sensors and making radical course changes! Kala expostulated as she continued to track the incoming missiles.

A slight rock was the only herald of the next bad news. 

Breach, Deck 9. The missiles are able to penetrate our shields! Kala cried in alarm. Emergency bulkheads are holding!

Get us out of here, Winston! The Captain demanded quickly. We can't keep twisting!

I need a level course first. They'll score again! Winston hissed as he continued to work at avoiding the missiles. I need four seconds!

If you can't get them in five I'll take the hits! The Captain snapped.

With some relief Voyager lurched into warp, but not before another two of the strange and effective weapons struck near the sensor suite and near engineering.

Damage reports? The Captain sighed as the ship returned to ordinary space again five minutes later. And what were the weapons and how did they get through our shields?

Three hull breaches, Damage Control are working on them, Captain. Kala reported a few seconds later. Repairs estimated in about three hours. Three injured. There are the remains of a missile in Engineering. Lieutenant Caerey is checking them out now.

One was in Cargo Bay 2, Captain, she added gently. 

The Captain span in alarm at the news. 

Lieutenant Paris is waking her now, Ma'am. She doesn't think there is any harm, the emergency forcefields went up too quickly to loose anything, but she was thrown across the bay.

I'm on my way! The Captain declared in alarm. Where is the Valoria?

She will be here in thirty minutes, Ma'am. Do I let him in? Carver asked cautiously.

Ask me when he arrives, she said unhappily. Seven of Nine hurt was potentially more devastating than losing a shuttle, visions of the Colonel in a fighting rage on her ship defied imagination. 

  


Seven of Nine opened her eyes and found herself on a sickbay medical bed. She had no idea how she got there but she ached and her stomach felt as though it was trying to crawl up her throat. Her own self-diagnostic routines automatically scanned across her Borg accessories and advised that she was mechanically functional, if bruised. They were unable to define the reason for her stomach.

A wave of nausea hit her. It prompted her to roll and retch over the side of the bed.

Only then did she notice the legs. 

She followed them up to find the Captain's and B'Elanna's worried faces. Seven, are you okay?

The worried question became a shout of alarm as Seven of Nine retched again.

I will regain control shortly, Captain, Seven of Nine panted between retches. I am uncertain for my presence in Sickbay. Or the nature of my condition.

You were in the cargo bay regenerating, when it received a puncture, the Doctor explained humourlessly as he appeared beside her. Now lay still until I've finished my medical scan.

Dutifully Seven of Nine tried to lay still, swallowing her bile as the Doctor ran his tricorder over her quivering body.

He closed the tricorder. Well apart from the bruises I was already aware of, he declared grandly. I can tell you you are a perfectly healthy mother-to-be of six weeks pregnant. Perfectly normal Morning Sickness. Congratulations! You should rest before telling the father!

Seven of Nine's eye's were not the only ones to open wide in stunned surprise. So did the Captain's. The cry was one of delight as she wrapped her arms around the still bemused Seven of Nine and hugged her tightly.

Seven said quietly, quickly regaining some of her normal composure as she analysed the Doctors statement. For me to have conceived six weeks ago, the Colonel and I would have disobeyed your instructions.

It doesn't matter! I don't care! The Captain declared happily, pushing herself away but still holding Seven of Nine firmly by the shoulders. You have the chance of what you wanted. The Colonel is going to be over the moon!

We did not disobey your instructions, Seven continued blandly. Until we were docked with the Borg vessel. That was under four weeks ago.

Don't worry about it. Scans are never that accurate, B'Elanna whispered encouragingly. I can't wait to see his face!

Captain, Valoria is on approach, Carvers voice distracted the Captain.

Let him in and have him escorted to Sickbay, she responded happily.

I do not wish him to know! Seven declared quickly.

Why ever not? The Captain protested in surprise.

I do not wish to be protected to the level he will deem necessary, it will interfere with my duties, Seven observed. I wish time to prepare him.

There was sense in that opinion, the Captain reflected and she knew why. If there was a fault in the marriage, it was the degree to which the Colonel would go to protect Seven. News that his wife was pregnant would make him more protective still, as his previous experiences haunted him.

He'll find out himself soon enough, she said at last. If you haven't told him by then, it will be a lot worse. I'll give you a fortnight if you haven't told him by then I will. She turned and led the still grinning B'Elanna firmly from the Sickbay

Thus it was that Seven met her concerned husband on her own, still sat on the bed.

Leave you in bed in the safest place in the galaxy and you start sleep walking! He scolded as he lifted her firmly against his chest in a bone cracking hug.

It was not intentional, Seven of Nine claimed. The damage was superficial and has been efficiently repaired. You may carry out an examination if you wish? She offered him the Doctors tri-corder, knowing full well he would not pick up the small signals the Doctor had on close examination.

You know I prefer close physical inspection, he whispered, kissing her ear. Until we've sorted the Captain's little problem I'll trust the Doctor not to have missed anything important.

  


What were the weapons? Captain Janeway demanded crisply, she glared around the staff meeting waiting for a response. It had been three hours since Voyagers ignominious retreat, two since Seven's happy news and her worries for her downed shuttle had returned with vengeance.

Not that she was the only one. She could almost see the Colonel steam as his own anger simmered.

B'Elanna sighed. It was her turn to enter the lions den of the Captains anger. It appears to be some form of depleted radioactive material, she said cautiously. We are still having difficulty getting close enough to examine it because it is so hot'. I've four people in sickbay from radiation poisoning.

What are you doing to make it safe? Chakotay interrupted.

Caerey is encasing them in forcefields until we can work out how to move them, B'Elanna admitted. We can't even lock transporters on the debris.

Sounds like old fashioned armour piercing shot. We used to use a lead and glass impregnated resin for dealing with things like that, the Colonel offered. Would that help?

Captain Janeway glared at him.

I'll have a look, B'Elanna promised. But it is very dense, in the region of 25000 tonnes per cubic metre and has a shell harder than diamond. The pellets that are lodged in the hull weigh almost a tonne.

Why did they penetrate the shields? The Captain demanded.

Defensive shields are designed to cope with modern energy weapons, Carver commented. This weapon is older than the Colonel. They are effectively cannonballs. The mass is too much for both the meteorite shielding and integrity fields. The hard shell fragments as it penetrates the hull leaving the radioactive centre. I don't think they are designed to destroy a vessel, though they can do that, more to poison its occupants?

We've found a few shell fragments, B'Elanna offered. They aren't unlike Borg body armour.

So there is a Borg influence, the Captain hissed. How do we protect ourselves? I needn't remind you I am not leaving until I get my crew back!

I'm trying to enhance the meteor shields, but it will need all the power we have to stop a rock weighing 2000 tonnes and doing half impulse, Carver admitted. And they are too small and erratic to hit with phasors.

The Colonel said suddenly.

The Captain turned on him angrily. 

he said mildly. But a twelve bore used to have a destructive area of about 20 feet in diameter at 15 yards, he explained. As long as you pointed it in the right general direction you were almost guaranteed to do some harm. Mr Carver, you said these things fragment on impact. What would they have to hit to do so?

Don't really know, Sir. The head is so hard it shouldn't have to be big, just solid.

You have another of those ideas, Colonel, Captain Janeway speculated. Lets have it?

The Colonel refused to be drawn quickly, he was still thinking, witnessed by his fingers stroking his chin. The stubble was itching. Lieutenant Paris, how much shrapnel could you put in say one of Valoria's warheads?

You mean big enough to destroy a missile? B'Elanna asked. Perhaps two dozen and you want some form of bang to spread them? She continued without waiting for the expected nod.

Then we have a plan, the Colonel commented simply.

One you intend to share? the Captain demanded impatiently.

I'll take the Valoria in and parade for them, he said. I would appreciate somebody for the backseat, Ma'am?

You mean Seven of Nine? She is still in Sickbay, but I will get her, the Captain agreed. What makes you think you can get through?

Mr Kim will be enough, Ma'am. If he's game? the Colonel responded. Valoria is smaller, more difficult to detect and a whole lot more difficult to hit.

And Voyager? Or aren't we part of the solution? Captain Janeway fizzed, fighting the grin and feeling the pressure release as some sort of a solution started to show.

Valoria only carries twelve missiles, Ma'am. I might deal with a couple of their whizz bangs, even avoid another couple. Voyager needs to take out the launcher before they send a second salvo.

Anything else?

In the absence of troops and Commander Tuvok, then a security team to hit the ground running? They are likely to be pretty pissed.

Captain Janeway nodded slowly accepting the rudimentary plan. B'Elanna how soon can you modify the Valorias weapons?

I'm on it. Forty minutes, B'Elanna declared reaching for her communicator.

Harry, you want to go?

Harry Kim grimaced and swallowed, Valoria was not going to be a comfortable place and he had seen the levels of performance the Colonel placed on his crew. He suspected he might well not meet the Colonel's exacting standards. 

There's nobody else who can use the sensors, except Mrs Nine, the Colonel whispered, and I won't want much, direction and distance.

I'll go, Kim agreed quietly.

We go in an hour, Captain Janeway announced, closing the meeting.

Thank you. For volunteering Colonel. But you know Tom and Megan might not be alive? Captain Janeway commented quietly to the Colonel as the others left the room.

The Colonel shrugged. You think they are, Ma'am. Therefore they are. I will get them back. Besides this is getting personal again. Somebody shot at my wife!

He grinned suddenly, But if you will excuse me, Ma'am. I need a good pot of tea and a shave. Mr Kim is a clever chap, but he cannot make proper tea! He saluted and turned smartly for the door.

I hope Harry can cope, Chakotay mused. He struggled last time.

He'll cope, the Captain announced confidently. The Colonel will make sure he does!

  


An hour later Valoria took wing again and twisted back to the danger zone. 

What am I going to need to do to persuade them to fire at us? The Colonel asked. I don't want to mess about doing orbits like Voyager.

They didn't shoot until Voyager saw the concrete, Kim volunteered.

Excellent! We'll take interest in it as well. A very close interest. Hit it with every detection beam in the book and any others you can invent in the next twenty minutes, the Colonel decided. We'll see if that wakes them up.

You can come out now, Mrs Paris? He called more loudly. Mr Kim is going to need some extra help and you will be safer and not say a lot more comfortable in a seat!

From the head B'Elanna appeared, blushing furiously. How did you know? She demanded taking the seat beside Harry and activating the console at he side.

You didn't wave us off, the Colonel offered. But Klingon blood must be getting to you Lieutenant?

She looked at him blankly.

If it was Mrs Nine down there and I was given the opportunity, I would have been knocking seven bells out of the place two hours ago and damn the consequences, the Colonel explained with a grin.

There are better ways, she offered sweetly. I'm sat behind one!

  


Okay people. I want that launch site spotted before they launch. A full salvo of torpedoes, don't wait for the command, the Captain demanded as she paced the Bridge. She was under no delusions as to how long a weapon fired from Voyager was going to take to reach the planet. Too long. From their station it was going to take a full five minutes for a torpedo to reach it. Voyager could fire eight complete salvoes in that much time. And at the extreme range they were operating at there was not going to be a great deal of power in them when they arrived either.

Winston, as soon as the torpedoes leave the tube, warp us in. In case we need to shoot again. That wasn't in the plan, but the Colonel would be expecting it and they had a landing crew to put down. The sooner they were in position the better.

  


Anything yet? The Colonel demanded as he drove the Valoria lower over the vicinity of the concrete pad for the third time.

I'm trying a tacion stream, B'Elanna announced. 

They really don't seem to want to play, the Colonel complained. Most uncivil of them. I wish we hadn't replaced all the missiles. Perhaps a sharp knock on the door would have done something?

We could be too close? Kim suggested nervously. Voyager was much higher. Perhaps they need time to gain control?

Think so?

Kim shrugged non-commitally.

You're the boss. I'll try it, the Colonel agreed readily, pulling the shuttle into a hard climb.

They've launched! Kim screamed five seconds later as the Valoria breasted the atmosphere. Impact five!

Immediately the Colonel hauled the Valoria around into a steep dive. How many? Get the launch point? 

Two. No! Kim and B'Elanna screamed in unision.

Catch the next salvo, The Colonel shouted back as he hauled Valoria around for the second time, the air frame screaming in protest at the G-forces as he added power again to send it rocketing into the sky.

This time they reached space before Kim called. Two more. Impact 9 seconds.

I saw where they came from! B'Elanna shouted in jubilation. Relayed to Voyager!

Mark it! The Colonel demanded, already hauling the ship into a tight turn to run down the missiles. 

We're closing too fast! B'Elanna screamed.

There was a flash as the two missiles sliced past the wing of their ship.

They're turning!

So was the Colonel, as hard as the ship could, trying desperately to turn and face the threat.

They are trying to come from different directions! B'Elanna exclaimed. The first two are approaching from above!

Range! I'll try and take those out!

15,000 metres. Up thirty, left 15.

Obediently the Colonel complied. 

B'Elanna screamed as he approached the mark.

The first two missiles shot away from the ship like glowing darts to explode with a dirty red plume. Not waiting to see the effects the Colonel was pitching the craft around again to meet the next onslaught.

Voyager has fired! Kim screamed.

Hit anything?

Try again! Make sure they fly into the explosion! No deflection shots!

Right forty, down ten! B'Elanna called desperately.

One coming up under us! Kim screamed. Two seconds!

The Colonels desperate roll coincided with B'Elanna's firing, flinging the missiles wide. Forcing even more radical aerobatics to avoid the two oncoming missiles. Once again he was turning hard.

One on our tail! B'Elanna shouted.

It prompted full reverse on the shuttles engines, now screaming at the extreme overloading.

100 Metres! B'Elanna shut her eyes at the impending hit. It was going to be the destruction of their small ship.

Got you! Fox two! The Colonel cried in jubilation as the missile slid under them and he launched another brace of missiles.

He called, again turning hard as his missiles blossomed in the path of the receding threat.

Got it!

They've spread, coming in above and below! Harry Kim screamed in excitement. Five seconds!

Roll, bank, climb, skip and turn, for thirty long seconds, the Colonel trod, pushed, pulled and prodded every control within sight, sending the Valoria skittering around the sky in a desperate attempt to avoid the incoming missiles. How they missed the increasingly frantic missiles he never knew. But it ended with the Valoria chasing all three as they started to arc around. He chose one and turned with it, activating the ships pulse cannon to pepper the night sky around the target as it wobbled.

Do your best, Lieutenant! He called. Before they are on our tail again!

Two more of Valorias missiles left the rack. Again he did not wait for a result but was turning harder to find the next target.

Dead ahead! B'Elanna screamed. Automatically firing.

Got the last one! Kim cried in jubilation. Then groaned. They've fired again. Two more inbound!

B'Elanna screamed, the third was right below them and coming up fast.

There was a clang as the missile struck them a glancing blow. It sent the Valoria tumbling, as the missile that hit them fragmented after its collision.

Impulse is out!

Missiles not responding!

No power!

Another launch!

The cries went up in desperation.

I need engines in thirty seconds or less! The Colonel demanded as he finally stopped them tumbling.

No chance! B'Elanna declared.

Then sixty and a prayer! He snapped turning the shuttle ponderously with just thrusters.

If there had been an iron sight' for the pulse cannon, the Colonel would have been crouched over it as he waited for the missiles to come in range. As it was he settled lower in the seat and thumbed the fire button, letting the vibration from the cannon fire rock and roll his small ship to provide a fire cone' for the missiles to fly into.

The leading most missile did and exploded into fragments that rattled mightily on the crafts skin, the second hit the wing of the Valoria, sending it tumbling again.

Where are my engines, Lieutenant? The Colonel asked in resignation, after three seconds futile waggling of controls. He turned carefully in his seat as he felt his weight disappear and viewed his white faced crew. I've used the last of the charge in the canon and the thrusters are buggered. The next one does us in. And I hate being weightless!

Silently B'Elanna moved to the access hatches to start work.

Mr Kim, would you be so good as to get one of your little boxes and make sure we are still in one piece. There is a bump under my foot and I'm sure it wasn't there before we started?

Kim looked up in alarm. Computer doesn't think so, he said hurriedly.

Computer doesn't appear to be saying a lot of anything at present. So please, humour me?

  


Did you get the launch point? Captain Janeway demanded as Kala announced the first salvo of missiles.

Within a hundred metres, Ma'am! Carver commented. We need better for a torpedo strike at this range.

Winston. Get us on course full impulse, she snapped, turning her frustration to her pilot instead. They can't last forever!

Got it! Carver expounded as his instruments clearly pinpointed the launch point. Torpedoes away. Impact four minutes.

Split screen. I want to see what happens to the Valoria!

Breathlessly they watched as the ex-Valorian fighter twisted, turned and bucked ever more violently as its pilot desperately attempted to out manoeuvre the missiles as they swept ever closer.

That is some flying! Winston breathed to himself, as the Valoria suddenly stopped and leapt upward to allow missiles to slide underneath. He carefully made a note of the manoeuvre as another trick for the armoury of avoidance techniques. The Colonel often claimed he could achieve anything in a panic. It was not a belief Winston thought likely, to him the Colonel was simply calm and inventive in a crisis. He preferred that concept and tried to emulate it.

They've launched another two! Kala reported. I don't think they can control more than four in the air at a time! It was a pointless observation, four missiles were more than enough to contend with.

There was a collective groan as a missile struck and sent the Valoria tumbling out of control.

Valoria has lost propulsion! 

The new missiles have locked onto target, Captain! Carver exclaimed.

In dumb dread they watched as the two newly launched missiles adjusted course and headed directly for the small craft as it turned ponderously to face them. Then in surprise as its cannon started random fire and destroy one of the incoming.

There was another collective groan from the assembly as the ship was struck another glancing blow and tumbled out of control again.

They can't gain control again! Winston shouted as they collectively realised the situation the Valoria was now in.

Other missiles? Captain Janeway demanded.

One is trying to track it, Carver responded. If they level out it will strike.

Torpedoes have struck! Chakotay had never taken his eyes off of either screen and reported the detonation of Voyagers own weapons.

Winston, get after the Valoria. Carver, prepare a cluster torpedo and a jamming probe. We have to kill the missile after the Valoria. Get their assessment. Kala, check for success of our strikes. Try and lock on for transporters, Captain Janeway spread her orders with crisp snaps of command.

If we use a cluster we will hit Valoria, Chakotay gently reminded her.

Valoria reports numerous dents, Captain. Impulse is out, repair not possible. Thrusters are also dead. Inertial dampers are out. They cannot regain control, Carver reported calmly after a few moments, a slow grin forming on his face. The Colonel asks if it would be too much trouble if we could pick them up at some point, if we aren't too busy? He is running out of sickbags and the tea won't stay in the cup.

I can't lock on with Valoria tumbling like that, or at that speed, Captain! They are doing more than 30 revolutions a minute in both axis! Kala announced.

The Captain nodded, stifling her own grin. The crew of the shuttle were safe for the time being, if all the Colonel was worried about was tea. Winston, overtake that missile. I want to snatch the Valoria as we pass and it hauled into the shuttle bay. We can take the hit better than they can, if we have to. Carver, deploy the decoy as a mine as we overtake, then do the same with the cluster torpedo.

Aye, Ma'am! Winston responded hunkering down over the console. 

He knew the procedure, had seen it done successfully, once. It was a means of rescuing shuttles in distress quickly. The ship would swoop low over the shuttle, lining the craft up with the open shuttle doors. A tractor beam would then pick up the shuttle and drag it into the bay. In good conditions, with a good pilot and crew operating the tractor beam it was straightforward. The problem here, was that they would be approaching at near full impulse, the shuttle was tumbling uncontrollably, in every direction imaginable and if they missed then the inbound missile would certainly hit something, there would be no second chance. If Valoria hit Voyager, then the crippled shuttle would be destroyed. If the impact was hard enough it would do significant damage to Voyager, even destroy her. He and Kala were going to have to be not only good and but exceptionally lucky.

Range to missile 5000 metres. Intercept thirty seconds, Carver started to call the ranges as Winston started to flick his control panel, struggling to match the shuttles erratic flight. Ignoring the weapon he was closing upon. That would be Ensign Carver's problem, there was no time to worry about that and the shuttle.

Bring us up 500 metres, Ensign, Kala instructed as Voyager swept past the weapon. I want to use the forward tractor beam to start to steady the Valoria.

Obediently Winston complied. On the view screen they watched the thin blue marker from the beam seek out and lock on the Valoria. The beam wavered and bucked as if the Valoria was fighting it and Kala fought to bring it under control, without it breaking up.

Mines deployed and activated, Carver announced a few seconds later. The missile is steadying course upon Valoria.

Will it hit anything? Janeway demanded.

Carver shrugged. I think it has an optical lock. The jammer was never designed to cope with that, Ma'am.

I have a proximity detonation. The inbound has veered, he claimed a few seconds later. Recalculating impact to greater than 50 seconds.

I can't damp the axial rotation in time, Captain. Valoria will break apart if I try!

Carver, help gain a transport lock. Kala, damp it out. Winston, hold your course. You are the Colonel's watch, he says you work as a team, do it!

They smiled uncertainly at her. This was a scenario that even he had never thought of.

The thirty seconds required for Voyager to catch the errant shuttle were tense, as both Winston and Kala battled to match and correct courses.

Kala screamed as Valoria passed out of sight at the bottom of the screen. I'm losing it again! She'll hit us!

Instantly Winston struck his panel sending Voyager bouncing upwards.

She apologised. She bounced! Valoria is 200 metres behind, still doing five revolutions axial. Docking fifteen seconds. Crash crews ready in shuttle bay. Spin clockwise please, Ensign.

Again Winston complied to the demand from behind. Can't do better than 4.5 without taking dampers offline, Ma'am.

Do it! Janeway snapped.

100 Metres, more spin!

50 Metres, point two less! For fifteen long seconds Ensign Kala fought with both ships in her desperate juggling act as the Valoria entered the shuttle bay.

Valoria is in the hanger. Doors closing, Captain! She exclaimed happily, then sagged in relief.

Winston get us out of here before that missile hits us! The Captain demanded, taking control of her ship again. 

Chakotay, the Bridge is yours! She headed for the lift, then stopped and turned when another thought hit her. 

At times like this, she announced. Only the Colonels words ever seem to fit. That was damned good work. All of you!

With that she was in the lift and heading for the shuttle bay, leaving a beaming Bridge crew.

ETA for orbit twenty minutes, Sir! Winston called bringing things to order again.

  


The silence of their cave had become oppressive for Tom and his imagination was working overtime over their probable fate. They had lain there for what seemed like an eternity, but he knew it was probably no more than a few hours. Even the muted grunts and pants from Megan Delaney's breathing had eased now she had stopped fiddling with her bonds. Her chatter would be almost heavenly now. 

He became aware of a presence as if there was something in the room with them. In the dim light of the cavern his eyes played tricks with sliding shadows. He closed them, desperately trying to let his other senses do the work. After a while he could hear Megan's breathing as she continued to gently twist with her bonds trying to find a more comfortable position, he could hear his own shallower breath as well, but that was it. Smell. He could smell sweat. That was him he decided. But there was a damp earthy smell there as well.

he tried in desperation. His words echoed in the darkness, playing back at him.

What do you want?

The echo responded faintly.

He tried again modulating his voice to a horse whisper. Who are you?

Not even the echo responded. He had almost given up when a thin buzzing came to him. He listened hard and snatches of words came through the buzz.

Male and female. Small snatches of some form of whispered conversation possibly between several somethings, none helpful. Then there was silence again.

We aren't Borg! He tried hopefully in the darkness.

The silence descended again.

Who were you talking to? Megan demanded.

Didn't you hear them? Paris asked in surprise.

No. What did they say?

Tom Paris was as short of an answer as he had been hours before. He still did not want to alarm her with the words he had overheard, her imagination would frighten her. All he could do was admit to ignorance again. He wondered if he had imagined it. He certainly didn't want to tell her what he had heard. His own imagination was putting more than enough definitions to them, none were pleasant. 

He tried to put them out of his mind by creating a new topic of conversation.

When are you and Jenny going to stop playing with Harry? He asked. A fit of inspiration on a new topic of conversation hitting him.

Her surprise at the question echoed through the corridors. We don't!

Yes you do, Tom argued. You both come on' strong, then drop him like a stone.

We are twins, Delaney pointed out. We've always done things together! Besides Harry is such a prude and a prig, he can never make his mind up!

That at least was true, Tom admitted to himself. But the choice between the twins would be a difficult one for anybody. He gave vent to that opinion.

We aren't that similar! Jenny's maths is better than mine and she is left-handed! Megan claimed quickly. She's even won a prize for painting.

Any other earth shattering differences I can spot from a range greater than a micron? Tom asked caustically.

I suppose there aren't that many, she admitted thoughtfully. But it doesn't change the fact that Harry is a prig!

He is a decent guy! Tom Paris resolutely tried to defend his friend.

But he isn't, Megan declared, now warming to her subject. You know when Harry tried to get Seven in bed and she told him to strip for her?

In the darkness Tom smiled in recollection. Harry had arranged subtle lighting and soft music to entertain the then almost all Borg Seven of Nine in his quarters. She had been nowhere near ready to recognise the signals. Her blunt response of acceptance of what she thought he was proposing, sexual intercourse, would have frightened far braver men than Harry. He had teased Harry about that one for several weeks. 

Well, Mary Beth in Security had a similar experience. She got out of it by using almost the exact same words as Seven, telling him to strip for her. If he hasn't got the bottle to go through with what he started, then he deserves to be played with, Megan opined. 

He hasn't got the Colonel's style, she added with relish and warming to the theme. Any one of us would have thrown our knickers at him, if it would have prised him away from Seven. He is so genuinely decent, gentle, patient and vulnerable. If we could have got him in Harry's position, we would have had him. It was a challenge to try and corrupt him!

Then why didn't you? Tom asked in fascination. The conversation was proving to be revealing enough to divert his mind from their predicament.

Because it didn't work! Megan giggled. Jenny tried, we all did, even the Captain in her timid way. But we couldn't. The Colonel is a one woman guy and Seven isn't as naive as she seems, she sighed regretfully. She learnt exactly how to play him. He was lost to us the day he was brought aboard. We didn't stand a chance!

This was news to Tom. Not that the Colonel was dedicated to one person, Seven of Nine, everybody knew that. But that Seven of Nine had actively hunted' him. The more male dominated circles would have it the other way around and the Staff thought it had been the Captain's manipulation of both.

I still think you should give Harry a chance of at least coming out even, he muttered reproachfully.

He needs to grow up first, Megan declared with feeling. He's like a kid in my grandparents sweet shop trying to decide which sweet he'll have first. Perhaps we'll feed him to Llinos Abbott. That will cure him.

But she and Chakotay..! Tom started to protest.

Delaney sighed. Why are they all so two faced and blind. No they aren't. She's simply making up for lost time and Chakotay volunteered.

Further discussion proved impossible as numerous small feet thundered past and the sound of excitement drowned their muted conversation.

I think, Tom speculated cautiously. Voyager has arrived.

  


The Colonel stepped off of the Valoria and slumped heavily upon the step looking green. I need an aspirin! he croaked. I had no idea we were spinning like that until Voyager appeared.

You should have shut your eyes like we told you to! B'Elanna laughed, as she sat unsteadily beside him. But I admit it was pretty wild and overall I'm glad you didn't.

So am I! The Captain drawled as she entered the bay. Otherwise I'd be down five crew not two. Now are you up to taking the landing party?

How long do I have before I have to say yes', Ma'am? The Colonel asked mildly.

Do you ever need time? She asked in concern, You've never asked before?

Probably not, he agreed. But I left my stomach out there somewhere and I'm hoping it will find its way back. I'll stagger along in a minute or two, as soon as Mr Neelix stops hovering with the teapot, he nodded at Neelix standing behind the Captain holding a tray of steaming mugs. 

It is good and black, just as you like it, Neelix bubbled, pushing forward and thrusting a mug at the Colonel.

May the Good Lord bless you, Sir, the Colonel declared with a grin and taking a sip of the mixture. You may not be a brilliant cook, but you are getting good with the tea!

He climbed slowly to his feet and saluted the Captain. Permission to come aboard, Ma'am?

I'm about to push you off again. But for the interceding fifteen minutes, you are welcome, Colonel! Janeway laughed in relief. It was surprising how that small formal display and request could put the world to-rights.

Enough time to say hello and goodbye to the wife then, the Colonel decreed. I'll be ready, Ma'am. He saluted again and set off for the door and Sickbay.

  


Fifteen minutes later the Colonel's briefing of the security team in Transporter Room 1 was interrupted by the arrival of the Captain. I'm coming to stop you doing anything rash, she remarked cheerfully. Then noticed the presence of Seven of Nine with the rest of the crew.

He requires protection, Captain, Seven answered the unasked question nonchalantly.

Never do anything rash, Ma'am! The Colonel protested. Dumb, yes, I would have to agree. But never rash! Certainly not as rash as the Captain leaping into a fire fight. Are you sure, Ma'am?

She fired back.

He nodded wearily. Very good, Ma'am. I am intending to beam down about 800 yards from the concrete pad they launched the missiles from. There shouldn't be any problems at that point, he confided. But in case there is we will go in two waves, hundred yards apart. Ensign Talbot at the panel assures me he can put us down to catch any nasties in the cross fire.

Are you expecting any trouble? Captain Janeway asked mildly. There is no sign of anybody on the surface.

The Colonel shrugged nonchalantly. No, Ma'am. But I'll be damned if I'm going to walk slap bang into it. Would you care to take the second squad with Mrs Nine?

  


The landing site proved to be as expected. Quiet. Barely a breath of wind stirred the knee length yellowing seed grasses. The Colonel muttered absentmindedly as he plucked a stem and tasted it. If we get time we can mow some of this for Neelix.

He continued to scan the horizon as the Captain and her team appeared. They met in the centre ground between them.

Spread out in two's, circle the target. Approach to 50 metres light style and wait for the signal to attack.

They are too obvious to be real soldiers, the Colonel moaned easily to the Captain as they watched them dart away. This is all basic stuff. Shall we go? He set off striding towards the plume of smoke that marked the detonation point of Voyagers torpedoes.

Aren't you going to crawl in like the others? The Captain asked in surprise as she and Seven darted after him, the Colonel was acting as if he owned the planet.

Good heavens no! They won't shoot. I'm British! the Colonel exclaimed indignantly. 

Besides the sooner they start shooting, the sooner we'll know where they are hiding, he added more quietly.

The landing party gathered to peer into a twenty foot deep hole in the ground that had previously been covered by the concrete pad that had been the cause of their problems. Of the pad there was now no sign, instead there was the hole full of twisted metal, several missiles could be seen laying on their sides, but otherwise and thankfully undamaged.

I don't like small holes I haven't dug, the Colonel mused. There tends to be unpleasant things living in them.

We go in, Janeway urged, starting to clamber in. She was stopped by a burly arm.

If we must, we must, Ma'am! The Colonel announced. But somebody expendable goes first. Me!

Quickly the Colonel climbed past the Captain and into the gloom.

The party waited as he scanned the surrounds. Nobody here. The Flyer is under some of the iron work, must have been dragged and lowered on a lift, the Colonel reported. Looks as if there is a rat hole running that way. The others saw him point and start off.

Just wait! The Captain shouted after him, hurriedly descending.

She found the Colonel crouching by the opening of a low tunnel viewing down it with a night scope.

Hands and knees job, Ma'am! The hole is barely three feet high, The Colonel grunted. Whoever used them has pulled right back. Bad news if we have to fight.

We aren't here to fight, the Captain reminded him quietly. We came for Tom and Megan, don't forget that!

I haven't forgotten, Ma'am! But the locals aren't queuing with tea and crumpets, so they may have other ideas and this is their patch, the Colonel observed. Two to stay and guard this end of the hole. They can set transponders so Voyager can take the Flyer back. The rest of you follow me, and keep the torches off!

He headed down the tunnel on his hands and knees, not waiting to see who followed.

Do you know where you are going? The Captain asked after thirty minutes crawling and feeling claustrophobic from the closeness of the atmosphere.

came the honest and disconcerting reply from in front. But we've not met any significant alternatives.

No pitfalls or traps either, he added after a few moments. Whatever they have planned is going to be big and nasty!

  


In their cave Tom and Megan had settled into an uneasy silence again as their conversation petered out. The were startled into life again as they heard the muffled thud of detonations and they were dusted liberally by grit from overhead. 

Must be missile launches, Tom opined. Strange we haven't heard them before.

Perhaps they decided they needed something bigger? Megan whispered hollowly.

Tom agreed. If the Colonel has arrived. They would need to launch planets to dent him!

I thought you liked him? Megan challenged, a little fire entering her voice.

I do, Tom hissed. It is impossible not to. It's just that he always seems so, he paused trying to find a suitable word, 

Not that indestructible, Megan giggled. He is very fragile really!

Their conversation was interrupted by more running feet, then more silence. They strained their ears for any clue as to what else was happening.

Suddenly they were grabbed and dragged along more darkened corridors, before they were finally dropped unceremoniously in a much larger chamber. The fluorescence from the walls was much stronger here and amongst the shadows Tom could make out some fifty of the small creatures that had captured them. They, in their turn, were gathered around a much larger creature that lay at the far end, possibly even servicing it. It looked like an over grown and white slug in the limited light.

_You are not Borg?_ The voice drifted at Tom, coming from no discernible direction, but crystal clear, powerful and female.

Who said that? Who are you? He demanded, his own voice sounding feeble as it echoed off the walls.

_I have no name. I am the centre of Ichard life on this planet. I issue Ichards. You are not Borg?_

No. We are not Borg, Tom agreed, moderating his voice to a whisper to stop it bouncing back at him.

_Yet you examined our planet and have brought destruction? Even now members of your race are exploring our tunnels. They intend to exterminate my people. Why?_

You fired at us and took us captive, Tom pointed out nervously, peering around trying to see what was happening around him. They won't kill anybody, if they can avoid it!

_Fourteen were exterminated when they attacked our launch site!_

We are peaceful explorers! We wanted to know how the Borg had affected planets in their sector. Tom found himself pleading. We had given up on this planet! We had thought you had been destroyed by the Borg. Then you appeared!

_We exterminate life that discover us. The Borg would destroy us if they find we still exist. It is necessary to protect ourselves!_

But we didn't know you existed until you shot at us! Tom repeated.

_You found our launch silo!_

The concrete pad! Tom guessed. We didn't know what it was!

_You and your people cannot be permitted to escape to tell the Borg!_ The voice declared finally. _You will be exterminated._

Tom pleaded in alarm as six small figures started to approach. Nobody needs to tell the Borg anything! The Unimatrix has been destroyed!

_You lie. The Borg are invincible. We designed them that way!_ The voice thundered through his mind making Tom Paris flinch.

They were destroyed! He shouted back, his voice ringing around him. We destroyed them four weeks ago!

It seemed a lot less certain this time.

Tom insisted. People from my ship destroyed the Unimatrix!

_Then you will exterminate us!_ The voice screeched in his head. _We must exterminate the invaders!_

As one the Ichards started to withdraw, disappearing into a tunnel at the far end, following the bulk of the slug, tenderly easing it into the tunnel. At the same time a new group started to approach from the sides.

Tom protested in futility. Please. Listen! We mean you no harm! Just let us go!

That is a sentiment I would concur with Lieutenant, a welcome voice echoed around the chamber. If you would be so kind as to ask your hosts to stop sidling forward. I will be a lot happier?

Megan cried happily, rolling over to see him crawl into the cavern. He slid to his knees and watched the approaching natives cautiously, they in their turn slowed to a stop as they watched the gently swinging barrel of his rifle.

Behind him she could see others emerge and in the middle of the group came the Captain.

Recommend you remain in the tunnel, Ma'am. Until the threat is contained! The Colonel snapped. His hand was feeling behind him for the sheath knife he always carried at the small of his back. I can hold them off long enough to pull Lieutenant Paris and Miss Delaney out the way and get a fair way down the tunnel.

Don't threaten them! Tom heard himself plead. They think we are going to exterminate them! Or bring the Borg down on them! Please, Captain!

Colonel wait! Captain Janeway demanded. Are you able to talk to them, Tom. Do they understand you? She asked quickly.

I think so, but she doesn't believe me, Captain, Tom whispered.

Who is she? She asked, watching the Colonel slide forward to greet the building throng.

I think she is some form of ruler. She claims she is the centre of life to these creatures, Ichards. She is scared we will betray them to the Borg, Paris explained.

Does she know what has happened to the Borg and who did it?

I told her, but it seemed to make her more alarmed! Tom admitted.

It was a tricky impasse, the Ichards were gathering courage and creeping forward. They were now within 5 metres of the Colonel. When they reached him the Captain knew what would happen. He would react violently, it was the only way he could continue to protect the landing party.

she tried to attract his attention.

His reply was instant, but he did not move from his position or take his eyes from the Ichards.

Free Tom and Megan, then retrace our route up the tunnel. Tom, I want you to stay here with me. I don't want anybody hurt.

For a moment she wondered if the Colonel was going to do as she requested. He certainly hesitated, then responded, cautiously crawling towards her bound pilot and set about the ropes that bound him. No sooner had he looked down to cut the bindings then four of the small creatures leapt at him. 

Instinctively he rolled, bringing his legs up to kick them away, then rolled back to his knees, knife low ready for the next assault. His attackers retreated again. Cautiously he returned to the ropes that bound Tom Paris, still watching his would be attackers as they retreated to the tunnels.

Finished, he moved silently to Megan Delaney, leaving Tom Paris to massage life back into his cramped limbs.

We have what we came for. We will leave, the Captain declared to the now empty cavern. None of your people has been hurt and we will not hurt them, if we are allowed to leave unharmed.

She turned confidently towards the tunnel that led outwards, preceded by two of the landing party, until they were brought up sharp. Captain! The tunnel is blocked with nets! 

An instant later the Colonel thrust his way past them and examined the net and the wall to which it was glued by the light of his pocket torch. Finally he shone it up the tunnel and caught sight of three Ichards busy working. He backed out again.

"Little buggers are spinning webs like spiders!" He complained quietly to the Captain. "Only it's a damned sight stronger. We can cut through, but not as quickly as they can make a new one."

"Suggestions?" She asked quickly.

How deep are we? Could we drill a hole in the roof with the phasor rifles?

Several hundred metres, the Captain guessed. We would be buried under rubble long before we reached the surface.

Seven of Nine joined them after making her own examination of the nets that contained them and the people building them. The net material is the same poly-metallic compound used by the Borg for armour, she stated simply. I was of the opinion that the material was unique to the Borg. The Ichards seem to generate it naturally from glands where sexual organs would normally exist.

Then why are they scared of them? The Captain demanded.

Perhaps we can ask when they come and gloat, Ma'am? Or I get bored and go looking for them? The Colonel suggested. I don't particularly want to, fighting underground is difficult. They will have to come and see us sooner or later, because Voyager is still sat on top of them and they will want to know how to get rid of it. The Commander will start getting bored soon. He'll start taking pot shots.

Of course what the Commander could do with is a beacon, so he knows what to shoot at? He added carefully. I don't suppose we could create one, Ma'am?

Communicators are non-functional, Captain Janeway pointed out.

They both looked at Seven.

Sub-space transmissions are being deflected, she observed. I will try to create a simple high power homing beacon using the tri-corder.

That's my girl! The Colonel declared proudly as she turned away to break down her tri-corder by torch light. Beauty and brilliance in one neat package! He settled to wait for events to catch him up.

  


Chakotay sat in his chair thinking carefully. The landing party had been on the planet below for six hours and had not reported for five of those. He knew that they had entered a series of tunnels and they had been able to track them for nearly a kilometre until the signals disappeared. He was getting worried. He barely acknowledged Kim's announcement that the Flyer had been beamed back into the shuttle bay that had been nearly an hour ago.

In desperation he had even sent a second away team to try and explore the tunnel that the Captain had entered. They had returned empty handed and reporting that the tunnel had been blocked.

That only left blind faith in the Colonel's ability to sense danger. Chakotay's Indian blood accepted that some people could be gifted like that, but it was difficult to accept totally.

Finally he turned in his seat. Harry, take Kala and Jenny Delaney to Astrometrics. Try and find where those tunnels go and prepare a solution to mine them open. Carver, maintain full spectrum communications scans. I don't see them not trying to find a way of signalling us unless they are in deep trouble.

  


"I think our hosts are coming back, Ma'am!" The Colonel whispered, suddenly snapping alert after sitting motionless for nearly two hours. "All four access tunnels."

It was an feat that the Captain had never managed to understand or emulate. The way the Colonel could simply turn himself off, but still be aware of everything that was going on well enough to know when it was likely to affect him. Chakotay could manage it occasionally, when things were quiet and he had attempted to teach her once. Getting her to concentrate on a small totem. It was harder than staying awake and certainly not something she could do if there was potential for real trouble. With the Colonel it was immediate, the only criteria seemed to be a lack of immediate danger. 

Instead she had used the time to get a full report from Tom.

"How many?" She asked, wondering if he could supply an accurate answer.

"Enough," he declared. "But I think the hole that is of interest is that one." He pointed at the largest tunnel. "I think we are going to receive an audience with Queen Bee."

"The beacon is ready to test," Seven reported quietly as they settled to watch the tunnel the Colonel had indicated. "I have configured it to send simple repetitive signals on ultra low frequencies. It will take time for Voyager to detect the signal."

"Keep a hold on it," the Captain instructed. "I don't want to start a war and I don't think the Colonel is happy with the conclusion if we did."

Slowly and cautiously the Ichards reappeared and surrounded the Starfleet contingent as they sat and watched.

"Put your weapons on the floor," the Captain ordered. 

There was a pause as the party looked at her in alarm. It was broken by the Colonel as he slapped his rifle on the ground hard. It was quickly followed by his heavy knife.

"Make sure they know you've put them down," he whispered encouragingly.

The Captain grinned weakly at him as the others followed the Colonels lead. "Tom tell them that our weapons will remain on the floor as long as they don't come within three metres."

"_We understand your statement._" Tom heard. "_Your Captain cannot receive our thoughts?_"

The Ichards stopped forming a ring almost exactly three metres from them.

"They got the message, Captain," Tom observed. "But I think I am the only one that can hear them."

"_There is a Borg in the party. It is here to destroy us?_"

"No!" Tom insisted. "Seven is not Borg anymore! She is human we rescued her!"

"They are worried about Seven, Captain," he whispered an explanation to the invisible question.

"_And the other one?_"

"Seven is the only Borg!" He exclaimed.

"_The one beside your Captain bears Borg technology. He is Borg._"

"No!" Tom protested. "He is human, like Seven. He has never been Borg."

"They are worried about the Colonel as well, Captain," he passed on. Secretly he was starting to enjoy the role of spokesman.

"The Colonel won't try to harm you, provided you don't try to attack us," the Captain reinforced.

"_The purpose of his Borg technology?_"

This question Tom found to be more difficult to answer sensibly. "He needed it to keep him alive," he offered.

"_We will examine them._" Immediately two Ichards started to move forward.

"They want to examine Seven and the Colonel," Tom passed on.

"Tell them I'm 6 foot 4, 15 and-a-bit stone and have an incredibly bad attitude to people I don't know, poking around my wife without reason or consent," the Colonel suggested evenly.

The Ichards stopped.

"Will the Ichards guarantee their safety?" The Captain demanded quickly.

"_We will permit examination using your instruments,_" the Ichards offered.

Again Tom passed on the information. The Captain looked questioningly at Seven.

"My tri-corder is non-functional, Captain. I will permit examination."

"Colonel?"

"I'll be with her, Ma'am," the Colonel assured her. "If it does any damage I will brain the bugger doing it, then spread the big one across the cavern."

"_It will not do damage._"

"She says it won't do any harm, Captain," Tom reported quickly. "I think it is just a sensory thing."

Wearily both the Colonel and Seven of Nine moved forward towards the Ichard. They parted and allowed them to approach the larger white slug like creature they assumed was the 'queen'.

Three paces from it the Colonel stopped. "It's not much protection," he whispered. "But I'll go first. You can do your scans and report to the Captain. If it goes wrong scarper."

"I will not need protection," Seven argued. "I shall go first. You abilities to protect the others is greater than than my own."

She pushed past him, leaving him kneeling stunned, unsure of what had happened. Seven had never disagreed like that with him before. He sighed, shook his head despairingly, muttered "Women!" under his breath and followed.

Seven of Nine knelt up, bringing herself face to face with the queen, uncertain as to what was to be required next. 

Normally she would have at least attempted to argue logically with her husbands suggestion, he should go first. He was a sound calculator of risk, she appreciated his abilities and his desire to protect her. It had not been for reasons of logic that she had insisted on being the first this time and had pushed past, more a petty need to remind him she could take risks as well. He was going to need as many of those reminders as possible before she admitted her current condition.

Now she was kneeling before what could prove to be a potentially lethal enemy, hoping she was not about to be proved disastrously wrong.

Small hands took her arms gently and guided her into laying down, face up, her feet and legs apart pointing towards the queen, arms by her side. She could hear the Colonel's grunt of alarm and briefly glimpsed several small Ichards interdict themselves between the two of them, but they did not seem to be offering any additional resistance. She did not see that Tom Paris had moved up beside the Colonel and was holding his arm firmly.

Then the queen moved, sliding smoothly, enveloping her body. Momentarily Seven tensed in alarm, as the mass of the queen pressed down upon her, then relaxed as its body moulded itself around her, following her contours as it cocooned her. She tensed again when it looked as if her head was also to disappear under the queen, her legs reappearing behind. It did not. Instead small tentacles licked out, gauging her face before latching firmly to her implants. Further down there was vibration, heralding a light wave of pressure that rolled up and down her body. Then a gentle scrabbling as more probes penetrated her suit to latch onto the implants on her arm and under her breast.

The vibration intensified, making her try to squirm, in surprise and pleasure, it tickled. She was too well restrained to move and had to lay and accept it with nothing more than a low moan escaping from her throat. She could hear the Colonel's moan of distress to that as well, then forgot it totally as images started to flash across her mind.

The life story of the Ichards flickered across her mind so quickly she could barely keep up with it. 

How ten thousand years ago they had populated the surface of the planet as well as the subterranean caverns. How they had been part of a federation with the Calhards and another race, the Parahards. The long and bitter war waged by Drythions, that had only been defeated by the combination of what? She lost the story.

The images backtracked and replayed for her.

The creation of a mechanically enhanced race, using the Ichards natural ability to produce strong polymers, the Calhards advanced electronics and Parahards for the mechanics. The biological part was provided by volunteers from all three races and prisoners, then controlled by telepathy by more specially trained and enhanced volunteers. The Cyborgs were not deactivated after the war, Seven could feel the regret there. They were used to rebuild the shattered home worlds of Parahard and Calhard, then used as a symbol of Federation power. Until there was a cataclysmic event. The controllers of their cyborg army destroyed themselves in panic, the cyborg learnt to think for themselves and turned on their former masters. The Parahards had been destroyed totally, the Calhards, she knew, still struggled on in a pre-industrial state. It was something she was able to advise her host of. The Ichards had simply retreated below the surface of their planet again.

The flow of information slowed and stopped. Instead she could feel her own neural pathways being fired and her own life started to flash past her mind. She squealed in pain as the flow reached a peak and it slowed to a pace she could keep up with again. Finally it stopped, slowly flicking between images of the Colonel and the tiny feotus that was developing inside her.

_"Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix 01. We apologise if the images were distressing. You wished to learn about _us," the queens voice echoed disjointedly in her mind. "_Many of your Borg systems are damaged. We have repaired them. Those that prevented your reproduction were severely damaged during your re-conversion. We were forced to remove the remains. We are uncertain as to the long term consequences. The Borg were not designed to breed. Do you wish the foetus to be terminated?_"

_"_My designation is Seven of Nine, Primary Adjunct Unimatrix Samuels," Seven hit back, soundlessly mouthing the words. "The infant is not to be harmed!"

"_Very well. The human with you is your mate?_"

"Yes!"

"_He agrees with your assessment_?"

"He does not know," Seven admitted. "He was not present when the foetus was discovered. He has not been prepared for the information. His response will be erratic. It is not desirable for him to know yet."

"_He will be violent?_"

"He will not be violent," Seven clarified, it was the one thing she was sure of.

_"We will examine him_," the queen decreed.

Seven felt the tingling vibration cease as the pressure was removed and the queen started to slide backwards. Allowing her to sit up.

"Are you okay!" An anxious Colonel was beside her, his arms enveloping her and pulling her close. "I was ready to spread a lot of things around when she crawled over you. I'll damned well brain Paris if you're not!"

"I am undamaged," Seven assured him quietly, shuddering gently in his arms as the stimulation from the vibration started to fade. She turned and kissed him firmly on the neck, unwilling to lose the sensation entirely. "It was interesting. We will compare examinations on the ship," she whispered.

More loudly she called out, "I am undamaged, Captain. I have been made aware of the answers to your questions. The Ichards are not dangerous."

Quietly the Colonel laid down as Seven of Nine had to take his place for examination. Seven of Nine positioning him carefully.

It was at that point Chakotay in Voyager lost patience with the unknown events below, letting loose a barrage of phasor fire in attempt to digout the catacombs under the surface. Causing a deep rumble and shaking to be felt.

The Colonel was the first to react, grabbing hold of Seven of Nine and pulling her down beside him and rolling over her as the first rubble from the ceiling started hit them. "Get down!" he yelled, as he continued to roll out from below the queen.

Above him an ominous groan signified more significant problems than the fist sized rocks that were currently falling. Automatically he reached up, his hands pressing against the low ceiling feeling it move.

The shaking subsided as Voyager ceased fire to take stock.

"Everybody out!" The Colonel hissed, feeling the ceiling move again and trying to take the strain. "The whole lot is going to come down!"

Around him there were groans from the Starfleet personnel. The Ichards seemed to be incapable of sound, but were staggering just as much amidst the scattered rubble and random torch light.

"Away Team to Voyager, respond. Away Team to Voyager, cease fire, respond." The Colonel could hear the Captain shouting at her communicator amidst the confusion and falling dust, desperately trying to prevent another bombardment.

"Seven, get that beacon working!" The Captain yelled, giving up on the communicator.

"Could somebody shine a torch and tell me if I'm really holding the roof up or just the last tile?" The Colonel demanded above the furore, his comparatively calm voice commanding attention and belying the force he was applying trying to support it. 

It was the ever faithful Seven of Nine that responded. A quick glance at her improvised beacon showed it smashed unrecoverably. Gathering her wits she picked up a discarded phasor rifle and shone its light over the Colonels hands then made their way outwards from there. The beam picked up a crack which she followed, revealing he was in the centre of a slab nearly four metres in diameter. She gave a rapid appraisal of the situation as she turned the torch on him. He had taken position on his knees, his head and hands locked firmly against the ceiling, eyes closed, straining against the un-measurable weight.

"I can't hold this for long," he hissed on hearing the news. "Get everybody out, use the rifle if you need to."

"You will not survive the cave in," Seven argued.

"A lot will, if you get them out," the Colonel hissed. "Do it!"

In desperation Seven turned to the Ichard queen. "You have observed the actions of the Colonel? Your questions are answered as to his nature?" She demanded. "He is acting for the safety of everyone at the risk of his own life. You will supply assistance?"

"_We have observed,_" the queen assured her. "_The units here are disarranged. I have ordered replacements. You must prevent your vessel firing again. It will destroy your mate._"

Unhappy, but with no further options, Seven turned to the task of herding the still dazed Voyager crew from the cavern and attempting to contact Voyager.

  


"Results?" Chakotay demanded after Voyagers twenty second phasor fire.

He had considered Kim's solution to tracing the tunnels for a full hour before finally ordering the solution to be enacted, putting it off because of the potential dangers that such radical mining would form. After ten hours of waiting he had finally agreed, all too aware that if the Captain had the situation under control then he was likely to destroy what she had achieved, but reconciling it against the last time he had not acted quickly enough. Now he was desperate to know the results.

From his console Carver looked up. "There is a cavern under where we were digging, Sir!" he reported. "There is more movement in the strata than we expected, it is confusing the readings."

"Keep scanning," Chakotay demanded. "Harry, keep scanning for more tunnels. If we don't find something here, we'll try again in an hour."

The command to fire again was choked in his throat as Carver announced in delight. "I have the Away Team, ten kilometres from their beam down site!" and the Captains equally desperate command. "Away Team to Voyager. Hold your fire! Three casualties for Sickbay immediate."

"Kathryn!" Chakotay exclaimed. "What happened?"

"No time. I want a geological team down here now to undo some of the damage and recover the Colonel and Seven!"

  


The only noises audible to the Colonel, after 30 minutes kneeling holding his load, were the small ones of gently settling stones as things settled. Thinking he was now alone he risked moving a little to try and release the stiffness. He stopped as there was an ominous groan above him.

"You stupid bugger, Samuels. You can't sit here all day holding the sky up like some demented tree," he chided aloud daring himself to release it. He did not want to, it seemed to mean certain death and he was not enthusiastic about the idea. "You have to let it go at some point!" He was not enthusiastic about the concept of being slowly crushed either.

He risked opening his eyes and blinked hard several times as the sweat from the strain ran into them. There were several phasor rifles still on the floor, their torches on. Their ghostly light revealing flickering images of Ichards scampering around. For the life of him he could not work out why. Then the larger bulk of the Ichard queen appeared, sliding over a fallen Ichard, engulfing it. It paused for perhaps two minutes, then a small satchel appeared behind her. Eggs', he decided.

"What are you still doing here?" He hissed. "Get out before I drop this lot!"

The Ichard stopped then silently approached him. Just as silently she started to engulf him, wrapping her body around him and he felt the tingling that Seven had experienced.

"You can stop that as well!" The Colonel hissed as the roof creaked.

Something brushed then attached itself to his implant.

"_It was necessary,_" the voice of the queen echoed into his mind as she removed herself again. "_I require a moments contact to lock onto your thoughts. Contacting the one you call Lieutenant Tom Paris remotely required much effort from several of us. We are stabilising the hall. You will be able to release the rocks safely._"

"And the reason you are still here?" He formed the question.

"_It is necessary to re-assimilate workers where possible._"

"And if I drop my little load?" The Colonel asked carefully.

"_We will die,"_ the Ichard admitted. "_It is of no consequence. There are others._"

"_Your Captain has reached the surface,_" she added conversationally.

"Safely?"

"_She is following Seven of Nine. She is intending to recover you, she is your loyal subject."_

"They are their own people. I have no subjects," the Colonel fumed. "I'm sat here like a prat trying to stop people dying. Not to watch them die when I finally lose."

"Never the less it is my desire to be with you. You require protection," Seven of Nine announced crawling up.

"Get her out of here, please!" The Colonel begged.

"_It is unnecessary, the Cavern has been secured,_" the queen assured them. "_Your assistance has been of great service. Thank you_. _You may release your grip."_

That led to a new problem. The Colonel had maintained his position for an hour, straining to keep the rock lodged above. His limbs and muscles had fused into position, he was physically incapable of movement.

Seven of Nine rose in front of him, kissing him firmly whilst wrapping her arms firmly around his shoulders and pulled hard toppling backwards as she did so. He fell on top of her with a distinct cracking of joints, his arms still above him and legs bent behind.

"Your examination will release his muscles," Seven instructed the queen Ichard, struggling to lever herself from under her husband.

"_You may wish to remove yourself?_" The queen suggested as she closed around them.

At first the Colonels eyes opened wide in alarm as the tingling vibration rattled through his body, then something akin to delight as they had their inevitable effect. Slowly his seized limbs started to relax and he found he could actually take hold of Seven of Nine's hand and grip it.

"I think that will be sufficient," he offered finally.

"Well that was fun while it lasted," he admitted as the sensations lifted, then pulled Seven down to kiss her gently on the nose. 

"Have you thought about talking to somebody about these little fantasises?" He asked, as she helped him to sit. He turned, pulling her up and into his lap.

"They are inappropriate?" Seven asked innocently. "We will discuss them."

It was how the Captain's new landing party found them ten minutes later, alone and in each others arms. She shone her torch on their still flushed faces.

"I should have guessed you two would be safe, and you would be in each others laps," she moaned. "Where are the Ichards?"

"They have other damage to repair," Seven advised calmly. "I will complete our thesis after regeneration."

  


Twenty-eight hours later found Captain Janeway, Seven of Nine and the Colonel in her Ready Room. "So that is it?" She remarked, setting aside the last of eight PADD's. "The complete life story of the Borg and details of three other races. It almost makes the whole trip through this quadrant worth it. Assuming it is the truth?"

"They had no reason to lie," Seven observed.

"Anything else? What was their examination like?" The Captain asked innocently.

"It was stimulating," Seven admitted.

"As stimulating as your husbands?" Kathryn Janeway teased wickedly, watching the Colonel blush. It was all the answer she needed.

"It was different," Seven admitted stoically. "I have not completed my study of the comparisons. It will need to be rated with the 1400 other techniques used by other races."

"Then I'd better let you finish," the Captain agreed, the wicked smile still on her face. "Just make sure the report is kept private. Dismissed."

They turned and left, allowing Chakotay to take their place.

"Tom and Megans report was interesting, but I suspect not as comprehensive as Seven's," he offered settling himself into a chair to deliver the daily report. "Caerey and B'Elanna have managed to remove the last of the missile debris. We beamed those to one of the barren planets. Warp engines will be available in an hour, the two damaged shuttles in a week days. There is nobody left in Sickbay."

He looked up slowly. "I wish to add I'm not sorry for trying to dig you out. I was too slow last time. I wasn't going to let it happen again."

"How many regulations have we broken?" The Captain sighed wistfully, her hand tenderly feeling the bump on her scalp, the result of her injuries in the cavern. "If we were working to the Colonel's rules I'd probably be building gallows by now."

"I'll pass the reports to Tuvok and find out?" Chakotay offered. "It'll give him something to do. How did the Colonel hold up a million tonnes of rock?"

"He didn't. It's in Sevens report. He just balanced it. He could have let go and it would just have settled. Seven had other reasons for not telling him." 

"But it was impressive," she added whimsically.

"Now about a replacement Tactical Officer for Tuvok, who have we got?" Deftly the Captain turned back to more routine matters.

  


  


  


Revision 13


	2. When We Stop (New 18/09/01)

1-28 Getting Away From It All

Hope you're still with me Sabrina? You've got your wish;-)

rg

  


**When We Stop**

_Captain Janeway tries to face her problems and develops a plan to improve moral morale aboard Voyager. Seven faces the need to tell the Colonel her news. Ensign Abbott starts to make her feelings felt._

_Voyager and the characters aboard her (except the Colonel and additional characters) in this story are copyright of Paramount. No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead._

_The story line and the Colonel are my own._

_Constructive criticism and comments are welcome on e-mail _story@rgower.plus.com 

_If like me you like to know why things occur like they do, I would heartily recommend you start with the Colonel. _

_This story is rated PG13 _

_©R Gower 2001_

  


  


Whispers can be hurtful, they can be pleasant. They can be the privately shared jokes, or the cause of salacious gossip and rumour. They are never entirely true. It is the duty of the recipient to decipher what is actually true.

Aboard Voyager two people tended to be the catchers and controllers of rumour. Neelix, safely ensconced in the Mess caught them, because sooner or later everybody went to the Mess and he had large ears. The other was the Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels, who actively sought out rumour. Both dealt with them automatically and in their own ways. Sometimes encouraging them, at others discouraging, by simply injecting more or less of the truth back into them before allowing them to circulate again. It was one simple way of maintaining morale.

Every now and then, a rumour would surface that would have them fighting back to back and losing the battle. Today was to prove to be one of those occasions that came to a head.

  


"I want to be of more use to Voyager," Llinos Abbott complained to Chakotay. I know I can do it now!

"What more do you think you can do?" Chakotay queried gently.

His evenings with Abbott were becoming a regular feature. Originally it was an attempt to bring her out of the shell she had built to protect herself from her situation aboard Voyager; An unwilling and not too competent passenger. 

Now he was having to admit he was enjoying the attention he was getting from the young ensign and was trying to remain convinced it was still a platonic counselling session. It was proving more difficult now that the sessions were often including a meal as well.

For Abbott's part, she doted on the Commander. He had shown confidence in her and had shown how much he cared when she had been hurt. Now she wanted to prove to him she was more than the mouse attached to Engineering, she was capable, possibly even available.

"How about an away team, or time in Astrometrics?" She suggested brightly. "I know Seven is superb with her sensors, but I can do the Mineralogy better."

Chakotay wavered uncertainly. He seriously doubted if Llinos would be better than Seven at anything scientific. There was something un-nerving about the way Seven could hammer an answer from her sensor suites. Certainly Abbotts record, even in her specialisation, was one of slow competence rather than sprightly brilliance. On the other hand her sudden enthusiasm should be encouraged he reflected.

"I'll have a word with the Captain," he promised.

"I don't think she will agree. She doesn't like me," Abbott observed softly. "She barely says 'hello' anymore."

That was baffling Chakotay as well, Kathryn had never shown any real passion for him, yet she seemed to be acting like the spurned party. He had assured her that his dealings with Abbott were platonic, yet she still seemed less than convinced. He doubted there could ever be anything between the Captain and himself, not while they were in the Delta Quadrant and that was starting to look never ending journey. Kathryn was a friend, often one in need. It was a friendship that had cooled considerably over the last few weeks.

"I'll make sure she accepts," Chakotay assured her, opening the door to peer out cautiously before letting her out. He was not immune to the rumours circulating, the hour was late and the sight of Abbott leaving now would fire the already excessive reports.

She her arms reached up and pulled him into a kiss before she squeezed past, "Thank You." She whispered.

The door closed behind her leaving him thankful that there was nobody in sight at the time to see him respond.

Unfortunately, her arrival had been noticed and news was already circulating.

  


"Good morning, Mr Neelix," the Colonel boomed happily entering the Mess marching proudly with Seven of Nine upon his arm. "Breakfast for two, please!"

Neelix, in common with his race, liked almost everybody, a fortunate characteristic for a barman. But the Colonel had a special place. He never complained about the food and was one of his most regular customers, appearing at least four times a day, if only for a mug of tea and a chat. He was also guaranteed to at least try anything new that Neelix was tempted to offer, then provide constructive advice if he thought it was going to be too unpalatable for the largely human crew.

"Let me see," Neelix pondered in mock thought. "That would be the usual. Porridge like cement and tea to dissolve the spoon?" He beamed at them both, it was a well established routine. The Colonel liked his breakfast to be a constant. He had once claimed if breakfast was bad enough, he could face anything on the grounds things had to get better. It was not a view Neelix could truly subscribe to, but as it seemed to be the Colonel's talisman he happily obliged, even though deliberately cooking badly well was more difficult than trying to cook properly.

Seven of Nine was a rarer, but just as welcome, customer. Her dry and direct manner and simple honesty often formed a counterfoil for others wit, a simple, direct, misinterpreted, but logical statement leaving amusement if not outright laughter and what Neelix liked above all was a happy mess. He often wondered if her manner was now an act, carefully maintained for the amusement of others. Certainly it was one that had evolved over the years. Most of her early roughness and seeming callousness had gone, but the innocence and pointedness were still there.

"What can I get for you, Seven?" He asked more circumspectly. Sevens breakfast tastes were more variable than the Colonel's, when she chose to attend for breakfast at all, normally preferring nothing more than tea in her quarters before commencing her astrometrics shift.

"I wish to sample a pancake, garnished with banana's and maple syrup," Seven defined.

"Lieutenant Paris suggested that such a creation was pleasant," she explained neutrally to the stunned looks. Her breakfast tastes had never extended to anything as exotic as a pancake, with or without banana's and maple syrup.

"Coming right up," Neelix accepted quickly. The rumour that would explain the sudden change in diet had evidently not reached the Colonel yet. Neelix had the sense to avoid bringing it up.

Seven and the Colonel accepted their trays happily and stepped into the busy mess, finally taking chairs with ensign Winston and Tom Paris.

"No Mrs Paris this morning, Lieutenant?" The Colonel remarked. "Not fallen out again?"

"She drew an extended shift to get the shuttles ready," Tom explained. "The Captain wants them ready for immediate use."

"More joy-riding," the Colonel sighed. He still did not want to consider himself an explorer and found extended flights in shuttles dull.

"The transwarp coil with the new warp drive configuration leads to a severe drain upon the supply of dilithium," Seven of Nine pointed out. "We will need to find new supplies. The use of shuttles increases our ability to search."

"I suppose it does," the Colonel agreed sadly, then brightened up considerably. "I can't interest you in bad flying lessons with real controls, Mr Winston?"

"I'll consider it, Sir," Winston promised. "It might solve the question as to who is the better pilot."

"Between who?" The Colonel asked with a grin. "If you mean me, the answer is you are by a long chalk. A lot of my passengers refuse to go a second time." Kim had patently refused to go near the Colonel's shuttle after returning from Ichard.

"No, Sir," Winston assured him. "Nobody can fly like you and get away with it. At least not for long. Between Mr Paris and me!"

"Not a lot in it," the Colonel opined easily. "Was that you on the bass last night on Holodeck 2, trying to serenade ensign Kala?"

A row of bleached white teeth appeared on Winstons dark face. "Been practising," he claimed. "Kala said I should learn to serenade her in the moonlight, like you do to Seven of Nine, Sir?"

The Colonel grinned. "A good dose of romance. Good man. Keep it up. Perhaps you should ask Mrs Nine for help, she was fascinated."

"One note was repeatedly played flat," Seven decreed, laying down her fork on her empty plate, wondering if she could get away with a second helping. "A minor error. It spoils the perfection."

Winston scowled at the seeming criticism. "You think you have it bad, ensign. Think how careful I have to be!" The Colonel whispered.

"Have you heard about Chakotay and Abbott?" Tom volunteered quickly changing the subject. "Rumour says it is getting heavy."

It was the Colonel's turn to scowl, the whole Chakotay and Abbott tale was getting out of hand. "It seems very unlikely," he said.

"It's true," Tom persisted. "They say she spent last night in his quarters. They say the Captain's really pissed."

"Now listen both of you," the Colonel hissed urgently. "The rumour is wrong. Not slightly wrong, but so far adrift it makes this ship look as though it is sailing in Hyde Park! And unless you hear it from the Commander that is what you tell people."

"But you always say there is some truth in rumours," Tom protested in surprise at the Colonel's sudden vehemence.

"But you have to sift the wheat from the chaff. Why do you think I've spent the last two years getting to know the crew?" the Colonel claimed harshly. "Let me help you by making it a little simpler and telling you a little about Ensign Llinos Abbott?"

"All your records say Abbott is, or was, a timid creature. Didn't socialise, kept herself to herself. Have you ever wondered why? You don't think she passed out of training like that, do you? Especially after all the psycho-clap-trap that seems to make up Starfleet training?" He demanded.

Dumbly they shook their heads at the question.

"At least we are getting somewhere," the Colonel sighed. "Her first posting saw her on a geological mission with twenty others on a K class planet. She was detailed to make a general mineral study whilst the team carried out deep bore sampling. She found that they were in an area of superheated gas pockets and tried to warn the rest of the team just as they hit a pocket. The gas vaporised the away team less than ten yards in front of her. It wasn't her fault, it was the Lieutenant in command, for crass carelessness. But that sort of thing is pointless to say, four of the team were her classmates. One was her boy friend. Can you imagine that? Two weeks from college and you see your closest friends screaming in terror as they are vaporised, she hadn't seen a dead cat 'til then!"

"She was subjected to nine months of Starfleets best text-book psycho-babble. She wanted out, natural, but not a good idea in its own. Her family applied pressure on her to beg for a second chance. She was given Voyagers short cruise to prove she was ready, except she wasn't. Never would be with that lot behind her. The quack that signed her fit for duty should have been hanged for only doing half his job, along with her parents for making her ask. He simply waved those instruments around but didn't really try to help her. Same here, because nobody looked. She had decided before the ship arrived in this quadrant that she couldn't face more and was too scared to take the other way out. Now she has suddenly found she can do things, but she has lost eight years waiting for somebody to help her find out what she can do."

There was an appalled silence as the horror of what the young ensign must have faced passed through their minds.

"I suppose that explains some of it," Winston admitted. "But why Chakotay?".

"Because he is experienced and the first person in Starfleet to show concern for her. She is confusing 'father' for 'lover'. Llinos Abbott is a young woman in a hurry to catch up with what she's missed!" The Colonel opined.

"So what are you going to do?" Winston asked pointedly.

"Do?" The Colonel queried. "I'm not going to do anything. You are. By ensuring you remind people the Captain has been known to be in the Commanders quarters at odd times as well and that the Commander is officially Personnel and deals with upset people."

With that he rose and offered Seven his arm, ready to escort her to Astrometrics. She accepted and they turned for the door. They were stopped by a table of crewmen as they passed.

"Who should I put my rations on for the Security Sweepstakes, Sir?" Crewman Carlile asked.

"I wouldn't put them on you Mr Carlile. If you need to ask you've lost," the Colonel quipped good humouredly. "I believe there are three candidates, pick the one you dislike most. Then if you win you can console yourself. If you lose it won't hurt so much."

So you're putting your money on the Colonel, Carlile, my man? Crewman Challon demanded cheerfully.

"Cap'n Kate wants him to take the commanders place," crewman Dorick cajoled. "I heard tell, Commander Tuvok recommended him too!"

Carlile responded thickly. I'm dumb, not stupid. He wouldn't take Tuvok's job if Cap'n Kate begged him too. You eard him, there's only three in the running. Kim, Carver n' Winston.

"M'be," Dorick agreed darkly. "But what Cap'n needs now is sum'un to look after her. Now Chakotay is sniffing elsewhere. She ain't gonna get that either."

Cap'n don't need nobody like that, Carlile argued loyally. She got Seven o' Nine. If she wants summat, she tells her and she gets the Colonel to gedit for her. Seven's got him on a short lead.

  


At present Seven of Nine could have been forgiven for wishing Carlile's last statement was as true as it seemed. 

Off-duty he gave her complete control of his life. It was a role she had found unnerving at first. Then found the benefits. He was always there to hold and comfort her when she wanted, but gave her space and peace if she did not. It made it easier to reciprocate. On-duty their roles effectively prevented her controlling her husband. 

As the ships Astrometrics and Long Range Navigation Officer Seven of Nine was an advisor to the senior officers, she had no authority over the crew. Normally, apart from the occasional desire to stop the banal chatter of the Delaney sisters as they discussed the previous nights activities, she was content with the status. Captain Janeway had a destination in mind, but an inquisitive nature that demanded to be satisfied as each strange place or phenomena appeared on the view screen. It suited Seven of Nines forever active mind to be faced with new discoveries and problems and the Captain looked to her for opinions and rarely begrudged her desire to learn.

The Colonel's role aboard Voyager was much looser. They still spent hours a week together, Seven of Nine patiently explaining the technical and scientific details of what happened and why. He tried hard to understand the details and still watched each phenomena they met and dealt with in awe and wonder, but they both realised that he was always going to have to be content with the fact that others were going to have to provide the technical solutions. What he did have a gift for was knowing about the lifeforms they met. Not superficially, like their names or where they lived, but deeper, what they thought, or what they might do. It was through him that Seven of Nine was starting to find that lifeforms were interesting as well and had a place in the logical order of the Universe. It was also what gave him purpose in the interminable gaps of nothing happening, he sought out things to do, people to help and talk to.

It was this last point that was giving Seven of Nine concerns now, as she accepted a last hug and kiss from her husband in astrometrics. With him loose among the crew he picked up the gossip. Sooner or later, despite the Captains assurances, somebody was going to let slip the news that she was pregnant.

She did not doubt that the news would delight him, even if he was a little annoyed at hearing from somebody else. What was causing her concern was how he would react afterwards. 

Few, if any, of the crew knew how desperately he had loved his first wife, or wanted the child she would have given him; or how close he had come to a complete breakdown when she had been murdered and the far from regulation efforts the men of his regiment had made to save him. How, even now, simply talking about it could make his eyes water.

She knew, because the information had been drawn from him during their confessionals. His desire for a child was possibly even stronger than her own. Not that he would admit to it. 

Ensign Wildman had said her husband had become more caring for the first few weeks, after she had told him about her pregnancy, insisting on making the beds, ensuring she was comfortable. The Colonel was unlikely to stop after a few weeks, she would be smothered by it, on and off duty. It was why she did not want him to know, not until she could prove she needed no more care than normal.

So far the plan was working. There were no obvious external symptoms yet and she had managed to hide the occasional bout of morning sickness. The only slip had been the desire for something sweet for breakfast.

Are you sure you can't find me something to do here today, before the Captain or Mr Neelix finds something for me? The Colonel's whisper interrupted her train of thought.

Your assistance is not required, Seven assured him. The Captain requires a projection for the Transwarp jump. The level of precision required is beyond you.

Okay! I know when I'm not wanted! He teased, giving her bottom a playful squeeze. You know you are blushing? You haven't got some fancy man waiting for when I leave?

He made as if to investigate under the consoles.

Fancy Man, Seven repeated in puzzlement. A male of perceived sexual desirability in an adulterous affair. 

It was a preposterous idea and it showed clearly upon her face. I am unable to comprehend of a situation where such a desire would form.

Aye up! She's swallowed the dictionary again! The Colonel quipped, winking at Jenny Delaney as she entered for her shift. I'll see you tonight then? 

He's right you know? Jenny confided with a grin as the door closed behind the Colonel. Your cheeks do have a bloom to them. He's not as stupid as most men. He'll work out what it means and he knows you don't fool around.

The prospect is not yet desirable, he has not been sufficiently prepared, Seven of Nine declared uncertainly.

I think we can deal with it, Jenny grinned after a moments thought. I'll get Megan to bring my stuff up.

  


Jenny Delaney's stuff', as delivered by her sister, turned out to be a large makeup bag. Seven of Nine studied it and its contents cautiously. She knew some of the crew aboard Voyager used cosmetics, especially off-duty when trying to impress somebody. She had never seen a need for their use. Either humans became attached, or they didn't, their external features were irrelevant. A point she voiced quite vociferously to the two ensigns.

Then why do you make sure that your hair is perfectly pinned and use that bodysuit? Megan demanded with a smirk. If not for vanity? To keep admiring glances coming your way and the Colonel knowing which side of his bread is buttered?

My garments are efficient, Seven of Nine protested. They supply additional support. Vanity is not valid reasoning.

Sure they do, Jenny drawled unsympathetically. They might help when you are the size of a shuttle? Why are you worried about the fact that your cheeks are reddening? Why don't your probes correct it?

I am uncertain, Seven admitted uncertainly. My nanoprobes keep my biological systems working to peak efficiency. Perhaps there is a fault developing. I will have to consult the Doctor.

Perhaps we had better tell the Colonel that you aren't well? Jenny teased. He'll be up here like a shot.

It is important to hide the condition from the Colonel! Seven declared in alarm. He will be inefficient, if he discovers my condition.

The twins laughed at her look of horror. 

It's alright we'll keep him entertained, Megan assured her suggestively. Perhaps he will be more open to approaches when you are fat. Now sit down and we can show you how to correct this major system breakdown? She pulled a small tub of foundation from her sisters bag and winked wickedly at Jenny as she approached.

Of course there are a lot of other small signs, Megan announced a few minutes later, after they had liberally dowsed Seven of Nines cheeks with fine white powder.

Seven demanded as she inspected the twins work in a small hand mirror.

Well your lips are drier and paler than normal, Jenny suggested thoughtfully.

her sister agreed quickly. The Colonel will pick that up straight away. Then there are your eyelashes, they are curling. Not to mention that your hair is paler than normal, don't you think?

They are in normal parameters, Seven disagreed, there was now uncertainty in her voice.

Individually, yes! Jenny agreed heartily. But together? You know how well the Colonel picks up the smallest details and they are all signs of your condition. 

I heard he picked up a hair on Winston's chin the other day, Megan put in helpfully. He has never had to shave in his life, now he has to do it everyday!

You may attempt to correct the defects, Seven agreed unhappily, now certain she was going to have to consult the Doctor regarding her biological defects, before she disintegrated where she stood.

Smirking widely at each other, the Delaney's consulted Jenny's make up bag and set to work with a will. Not changing Seven of Nine's appearance radically, but enough to show she had a full make over. In a busy hour they applied lipstick that was deeper in hue and glossier than her normally pale lips, tinted her eyelashes dark and eyebrow light, brushed in a dark gold hair colour to her blonde hair, nail varnish to her finger nails. 

  


Permission to step on the Bridge, Sir? The Colonel announced his presence to Chakotay in time honoured manner, coming to attention and saluting as he stepped from the lift.

Chakotay turned and grinned at him. One day you'll forget, he quipped. Or we'll say no.

The Colonel snapped smartly not moving. Permission to speak, Sir?

Still grinning Chakotay nodded. Granted both requests. 

The Colonel on-duty' and at attention would not move unless given permission and Chakotay suspected he would keep it up a lot longer than he could.

The Colonel relaxed, a little, and smiled slyly. The day I forget, Sir. Will be the day I appear in something multi-coloured and scruffy, Sir!

Chakotay accepted the jibe with the humour that was intended. The Colonel's pride in his all green uniform was as legendary as his pride in his regiment. We'll make you eat those word one day, Colonel, he promised. The Captain is waiting for you, in her room.

The Colonel agreed, snapping a final salute as he turned for the Ready Room.

It demonstrated how far they still had to go in converting the Colonel to fit happily within Starfleet, Chakotay thought reflectively. The more they tried the harder he seemed to work at not changing.

Lieutenant Colonel Samuels reporting, Ma'am! The same scenario was played for the Captain as the Colonel stepped into her Ready Room.

Captain Janeway was less inclined to play this morning. She had problems of her own to deal with. At ease, Colonel, she snapped.

He complied, automatically spreading his legs a regulation eighteen inches apart, with a slight shifting of weight from his right foot, his arms firmly behind his back.

You know Tuvok has asked to try his healing trance for a last time? She asked immediately.

his acknowledgement was automatic, everybody knew.

Fewer knew the level of argument that had occurred between the Doctor and Tuvok over the matter. 

Tuvok had demanded a last attempt at the Vulcan Healing Trance, this time to continue for as long as it took and before his body forgot it could walk. It would probably be a record breaking event. The Doctor had been pessimistic about the whole thing, how long it would take, or even if he could pull the Vulcan from it at the end. The Captain had listened to the arguments carefully and weighed up the pros and cons. 

Tuvok felt his condition deeply. He did not regret taking the actions that had led to the injury, but he would feel the restriction of a wheelchair deeply. It would prevent him being efficient and controlling his staff. He would, as he had paraphrased the Colonel, Be a waste of space'. It hurt his Vulcan pride deeper than the injuries. The Captain did not hold with that view, Admiral Jefferson ruled his flotilla with a rod of iron from a specially adapted chair. But he was a human, Vulcans were different. Such a major handicap in other Vulcans had made them withdraw from Starfleet, despite the benefit of their years of experience, then give up on life. They were worse than Klingons and she needed her security officer. 

In the end she had compromised.

Tuvok was to be allowed to make his trance. The Doctor was to continuously monitor him and bring him around if his readings became so low that recovery was looking as though it might become impossible. Neither had been happy with the proposal. After much argument they had finally accepted, with grave mutual warnings about being too quick off the mark, or not quick enough. All this was to happen after a candidate for Security and Tactical had been found and Tuvok had briefed him. Appointing the candidate was the Captains task now.

I want you to take Tuvok's place as Tactical Officer, the Captain announced without preamble. 

Tuvok recommended you, she added more contritely, then braced herself for the argument to come.

I cannot accept, Ma'am!

His response was sharper than even the Captain had expected. Why not? She demanded quickly.

My technical aptitude is insufficient for the post and it will interfere with my abilities to be of service to your ship, Ma'am! 

You are the best qualified, the Captain suggested. And everybody aboard the ship would be prepared to follow you.

People will follow anybody that looks as if they know what they are doing, Ma'am. Ensigns Kim, Carver and Winston are all qualified, the Colonel disputed. And they know how the systems work properly.

Carver and Winston look to you for the ideas. They aren't ready for the promotion, the Captain argued. I need somebody I trust totally to leave the ship to.

The ideas they have used have been theirs, the Colonel responded neutrally. All I've ever done is to encourage them to think beyond the books. Winston was a Lieutenant-Commander and will be a good one next time around.

I can make you commander so that you can control the ship legally and within the orders you were given? She offered quickly.

I'm too old to be tricked by that one, Ma'am, the Colonel observed. They tried to make me a Brevet General once, so that I could command a Division on NATO exercises. It would have been awful. I told them what to do with it. I need to feel what people are facing. I can't do that from a chair. No, Ma'am. I'm not interested in promotion. I'm as high up the slippery pole as I want to be. 

You accepted an ensigns pip, she tried.

Aye, Ma'am. I got a rollicking from my CO for it as well. Face it, Ma'am. I can't be a Starfleet man, either by choice or ability. I simply won't be able to stick to your rules.

The Captains face descended into disappointment. I wanted to reward you with something? she muttered. This seemed to be an ideal opportunity!

It prompted the Colonel to be a lot more gentle in his next words.

I thank you for your confidence in me, Ma'am, he almost whispered. May I be permitted to make an admission, Ma'am?

She nodded uncertainly.

Do you know why I take my tea black and so strong that it can dissolve cups?

Because you like it like that? She hazarded.

He grinned. I like it strong, he admitted, and I learnt to take it black because we ran out of milk. But there are limits. No. The simple truth is it is about the only thing I can repeat consistently from the replicators without thinking. I take it like that now, because that is how people think that is how I like it.

Why not just tell them? She asked.

Again he smiled. Because I'm stubborn and proud. I couldn't admit to a problem that people think is so simple to correct. I'd lose my edge. So I've learnt to like it. I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread it around, Ma'am.

Face it, I'm still a caveman. I've no real chance on Commander Tuvok's panel. The only thing I have of real benefit to you is experience, of people and being physical. It's not what you need on the Bridge. As for rewarding me. You've given me more reward than I will ever deserve. You've given me a reason to return to my billet every night, a place I now call home. I've never been anywhere long enough to have had one of those, Ma'am.

She looked up in puzzlement. If you mean Seven, she did most of that herself, she said.

Not just Mrs Nine, Ma'am. Heaven knows I don't what I've done to deserve her! he exclaimed. But you, your ship and her crew have become more than friends, they have become my family and have helped give me a home. They all have real homes to go to. I want to help you get them there. But I must be able to do it my way, even if it means I use my last chuff to do it. I can't help you drive your ship, but I sure as hell can protect it. It is possible we won't be friends afterwards, but I don't care, it is what I must do to repay you all for that you've given. If Mrs Nine is still with me afterwards, I can see if I can become worthy of her.

Captain Janeway almost choked on his last statement. It was all she could do not to blurt what she knew of Seven of Nine's condition. If that didn't change his stance nothing would. Instead she made do with a deep sigh. I won't try and force you, she said, still less than happy.

Please take your hat off and come off-duty, just for once? She continued changing the subject. I want your advice, as a friend?

Dutifully the Colonel complied, tucking his flat hat under his arm. What can I do for you, Ma'am?

What are your opinions about a Captain getting involved with a member of the crew? Kathryn Janeway asked timidly, turning her eye's towards the desk.

I think that is an unfair question, Ma'am! The Colonel chided gently. You know my answer. I think it is bad for discipline and weakens the commander.

The Captain nodded sadly, it was what she had expected. For seven years she and Chakotay had had a unique relationship, far more than friends, much less than lovers. She had appreciated his stolid defence, gentle teasing and loyal companionship. It had kept her sane, having somebody to sound off with. But she had kept her distance believing she needed that to maintain control.

But this ship has encountered something well beyond anybody's ability to control," the Colonel continued. "I have never heard of a seven year plus detachment without some form of relief or R&R. That means that human needs require some form satisfaction. One has to take that into account, but it is impossible to hide illicit affairs on a ship this small. Personally, I would just make damned sure the two people were 

Are Chakotay and I compatible? She blurted.

Not yet, Ma'am. But you will be, the Colonel assured her.

She looked up puzzled by the answer.

You have the same problem as I had, Ma'am, the Colonel declared to her frown. You have to learn how to turn off' and accept the inevitable.

Chakotay and I are inevitable, are we? She challenged with some of her original spirit.

No, Ma'am! he refuted adamantly. That we are human! We do need somebody else in our sad little lives. All you have to do is find him or her. If that turns out to be Commander Chakotay, I don't think he will complain. If it isn't, then he will still be happy for you. 

The question is could you face it if his patience gave up? He finished with the shrewd question.

What do you mean by that? The Captain demanded quickly.

There has to be a reason for the question, Ma'am. You are worried that the rumours might be true?

It is of no concern to me! Chakotay is free to socialise with anybody he wishes! She protested, thoroughly shaken and regretting asking the original question.

The Colonel exploded. If he got involved you would lose those cosy evenings together! Face it, Captain. There are times when Captain Kathryn Janeway wants to be simple Kathryn Janeway, but the Captain part is scared to bend a little. Why? cos she's afraid she can't straighten again. We both know it. You because it is your life, me because I've seen it pushed to the edge. Well let me give you a little rope to work with, then we will find out if you've learnt anything useful in the last seven years. All the answers to your questions are in the Starfleet reports, just ignore the psycho-babble and remember how long Ensign Abbott has been out of school. Think of the real reasons.

Now if you will permit me. I've arranged to look after the Mess while Mr Neelix entertains Miss Wildman, he excused himself quickly, with a salute and sped for the door, leaving her stunned by the venom in his words.

The Captain sagged into her chair and pulled at a small stud on her collar. It came away easily and she gazed forlornly at the 6mm diameter wreath emblem. The Colonel's regimental award for valour; a Riflemans Laurels'. She was not entirely sure why she still wore it, it was not an official reward and the wearing of such insignia was frowned upon by Starfleet. But she had been proud when he had presented it to her; Why? Because he thought that she exceeded the standards he set for himself. 

Perhaps there was a clue there to the Colonels blunt refusal to be rewarded, she wondered, he was not meeting the standards he thought they were setting in their technological world. The notion brought a rueful smile to her face. Perhaps he was not good enough with their science and technology, but he was unique and did things nobody on the ship could match.

  


Captain Janeway returned to her command chair thirty minutes later. She sat with a deep sigh and leaned close to Chakotay. I asked the Colonel to accept the Tactical Officers duty while Tuvok was indisposed, she whispered.

Chakotay asked

He turned me down flat. He has stated that he is not qualified for the post and gave his reasons. I have chosen to accept them. 

He told me a few other things as well, she added.

Chakotay stiffened warily.

Have you ever seen him use a replicator, for anything other than tea or simple duplication?

Chakotay thought for a moment, wondering if this was a trick question. he admitted. He made a jug of coffee. But I think most of the rations he uses are on tea. I can check if you want. Why?

Just wondered, she admitted reflectively. I think I am going to have to chivy Seven up, I nearly told him today. I'll talk to her again after the staff meeting.

  


I think things are getting out of hand and I honestly don't know what to do about them, Mr Neelix, the Colonel admitted sadly as Neelix tried to explain what was in his pans for lunch.

A hint of a frown touched Neelix's face as he deciphered the Colonel's comment. You mean the Commander and Ensign Abbott? He asked.

The Colonel nodded. If it were a real romance then I would say good luck to them, the rumours would die naturally and the Captain would have to learn to live with it. But.. He sighed.

The trouble is the ship and the crew have been pushed to hell and back. They will latch on anything that will help them forget what has happened and blow it up beyond sense, he continued quietly. We need something spectacular, but safe.

I'm sure we can think of something, Neelix offered confidently. Perhaps a party?

Got to be bigger than that, the Colonel shrugged. It needs an announcement that will surprise people. Now what has Naomi got planned for you while I'm slaving over your stove?

Neelix grinned at the change of tack. I think she was planning to take me to the Dark Dungeons of Moffat. It's some kind of fairy story but it sounds quite scary.

Fairy stories are, the Colonel observed. Kids like to be scared when they are having fun, as long as it has a happy ending. I suspect it's their parents that suffer most. One-day I might find out. 

There was a sad and wistful air in the Colonel's words that Neelix picked up and it startled him. I thought you weren't worried about having children? he challenged gently.

When Seven announced her intentions I had doubts, the Colonel admitted. But the idea has grown on me since. Now it itches like the pox. But I think she has stopped looking. Now I pray for an accident, but the chance of Seven making that sort of mistake is unlikely.

Neelix struggled not to break the Captain's and Seven's trust, but there was an almost desperate air of something that was struggling to break out in the admission. I'm sure she hasn't, he said hoping it sounded encouraging, but not too encouraging.

The Colonel smiled weakly. he agreed, pulling himself together. I'm sorry, my comments were inappropriate. Please put it down to New Year blues and forget about it. Things will settle soon enough. Besides you are in a similar boat and we have more important things to think of; like the crew?

Neelix escaped quickly, before his own knowledge and feelings got the better of him and the Colonel watched him go before turning to the range and carefully tipping the contents of Neelix's two pans down the replicator and setting to work on a new batch of soup. Nobody in the crew deserved Neelix's bitter Leola soup four days in a row. That job done he activated the Mess holo-graphic piano and sat to pass the time away between occasional visitors. 

  


The finale of the Delaney's make over on Seven of Nine came when Jenny pulled out a small glass phial from her bag. One last thing to hide those pheromones, she declared. Just a dab of eau-de-toilet!

My appearance is satisfactory? Seven of Nine demanded. She tried to examine the changes made in the small 150x100mm hand mirror they gave her for the purpose. The small object was of limited help, it was a small point that there was no larger version in her quarters for her to make the comparison against.

As right as rain! The twins declared, stifling the giggles. 

Something did not seem right to Seven, but she could not put a finger on it. She knew her nails were shining more than normal, but accepted Megan Delaney's assurances they would dull down to an acceptable level in a short while as those of an expert. She was less certain of the gleam in her face, or the polished pink of her lips.

The shine will disappear? She asked uncertainly.

Oh, Yes, Megan agreed. But it always looks a little overdone to start.

Before my dinner appointment with the Colonel?

Probably not. Just don't look at him too directly, Megan suggested quickly. Now the computations have been completed and you are running late for the staff meeting. The Colonel will notice the reduction in efficiency. He'll get worried and start asking questions, like he does and somebody will split on you. Jenny and I will ensure the figures get to navigation. She pushed Seven of Nine's PADD into her unprotesting fingers and ushered her towards the door in a rush to remove the confused woman from sight.

You can keep my bag? Jenny offered generously. Then when the make up fades, you can top it up?

Seven of Nine regarded the makeup bag again. She still had little idea of what the function of half of its contents were. Though the concept seemed easy enough as the twins had described it.

Thank you, she said at last, picking the bag up and turning towards the door and the daily rounds.

She missed the whoop of laughter as the door closed behind her sashaying figure.

I do wish we could have done a real job on her, Jenny sighed eventually. It would do her good to see what we have to do to attract men within range.

Oh, I don't know, Megan mused. We used less than half of what was in that bag. Seven is a nosey bitch and is really clueless about her looks. I think she will do it to herself, then we won't be blamed. Remember what Naomi looked like when she got at Sam's stuff? Lipstick all over her face, nail varnish in her hair and enough perfume for the ships sensors to think there was a gas attack?

Yes! Jenny laughed again. And I remember our first attempt! Sam has less than half of what Seven has in that bag!

  


Seven of Nines delayed arrival at the staff meeting was met by all present taking a double take. She paused uncertainly at the surprised looks, then put it down to her being unusually late. All the same she was glad they had forgotten to invite her husband and nobody chose to enlighten her.

"Are we ready for a Transwarp jump?" Captain Janeway demanded bringing the meeting to order.

"Shields and structural integrity have all been reinforced," Kim volunteered. "We won't start to collapse again."

It had been a bugbear of their attempts to make transwarp jumps of more than a few hours. Voyager's Cathor designed warp core, coupled with the 'acquired' Borg transwarp coil simply placed too great a stress upon the ships structure.

"I'm still not happy we have enough spare dilithium," B'Elanna warned, thus bringing up the second inherent problem with the pairing. It placed a great strain on the crystals that refined the power, burning them out in rapid order.

The Captain sighed. With Voyagers old power system it had been the Borg device that had proven the weakest link. That had been because they had not been able to tune the output to suit the device they had stolen. The new engines had proven to be better able to accommodate the Borg device and it showed the weaknesses in the rest of the systems.

"Long range astrometrics scans have identified a possible source of replacement Dilithium," Chakotay observed. 

"The planet is a primitive class 'M' with no intelligent life. However the atmosphere is extremely dense, it suggests a predominance of marshes. Recovery may be difficult," Seven of Nine warned.

"Apart from a few wet feet, it sounds routine," Captain Janeway dismissed the concerns. "Chakotay put together an away team."

As they trooped out of the Conference Room the Captain turned on Seven of Nine.

"I've never known you to wear makeup Seven?" She challenged. "And you don't normally wear your hair loose. Do you think Alan is getting bored with you or are you planning a steamy date?"

"'Steamy Date'?" Seven of Nine repeated uncertainly.

"An appointment where you have decided that the outcome will be a sexual encounter," the Captain explained with a grin. "Either way I think it unnecessary. First the Colonel is anything but bored with you, quite the opposite. It gets painful to watch at times. The second is pointless, from what I hear you dictate what you do each day."

"Your scenarios are unnecessary," Seven admitted before explaining her new look. "The Colonel noticed a flush in my facial complexion. Ensigns Delaney noticed other facets of my appearance that also highlight my condition. They have attempted to disguise them. They were unsuccessful?"

"I think they went too far," the Captain observed. "Unless you really wanted to scare him. Have there been any other physical problems recently?"

"There is some tension and discomfort in my lower abdomen," Seven of Nine admitted. "It is restricting movement. I have vomited on two occasions after regeneration and I have developed an irrational desire for sweet food items."

"Perhaps you ought to try some looser clothing?" The Captain suggested with a grin. "It sounds as if the baby is developing quickly. It will start to show in a few days at this rate and Alan will notice. When are you going to tell him?"

"Their has been insufficient time to prepare him for the knowledge," Seven protested. "Perhaps after I return from the Away Mission?"

The Captain shook her head. "Your time is up," she declared. "I will not send you on an away mission just to prove you can look after yourself. I suggest you go and wash your makeup off, then explain your feelings to him."

  


The six man away team, consisting of Chakotay, Abbott, the Colonel and three crewmen, materialised on a small grassy outcrop. They staggered briefly as the oppressive heat and humidity hit them. 

"I don't think we want to be here at sunset, Sir," The Colonel commented moodily to Chakotay, gazing around at the landscape of drooping reeds that surrounded them and slapping his neck. "This is mosquito country."

Chakotay grunted and looked at Abbott who was examining her tri-corder with care.

"Which way?" He demanded.

Abbott pointed, "That way," she affirmed. "There is a rock knoll about 300 metres."

Chakotay took a confident step in the direction she had indicated and fell face first into the mud as his foot sank half way up the shin.

He was lifted bodily from the mire by the Colonel. "It's a bit damp, Sir," he opined brightly. "Ever hear of Yomping? Cos now would be a good time to practise?"

Chakotay shook his head ruefully as he tried to wipe off the worst of the mud. "You are going to tell me what it is?"

"It's a sort of quick march over boggy ground. Run quick enough and you don't sink," the Colonel explained, offering the cravat from around his neck to help in the cleaning. 

He was surprised when Llinos Abbott took it and started to mop Chakotay down, briefly he wondered if he should reassess his opinion of their relationship.

"I think we would find it difficult to keep up," Chakotay opined after some thought. "But there is always a firmer route. Llinos see if you can find it using the tri-corder."

Abbott turned to the new task with a little less enthusiasm. The Colonel in the mean time waded to a tall standing of reeds and hacked down an armful of long and hard stems.

He had striped them for use as marker sticks by the time Abbott had worked out her route.

Automatically he took a place behind the others as they waded off to follow the young Ensign, carefully inserting a pole every twenty paces or so.

  


"What do you mean there is a problem with the Transporters?" B'Elanna Paris demanded.

"There is a shortage of power in the energisers, Lieutenant," Lieutenant Vorick reported mildly. "Ensign Collins and Crewman Dorraith are attempting to trace the cause. It should be repaired shortly."

B'Elanna sighed it was an ordinary day aboard Voyager, pity there was an away team out and were expecting to be beamed up at the end they might be a little late, but those were the breaks. 

She passed the news to the Captain, before turning her attention back to the shuttle. If the problem was more severe than Vorick confidently predicted then they would need the shuttle she was working on to be ready for service.

  


The Captain was in consultation with Neelix. The idea that the Colonel felt he did not meet their standards had not left her. In fact it had plagued her thoughts. Now she had an idea. Neelix was the key to its exercise.

"What is on your mind, Captain?" Neelix quizzed, pouring a second mug of coffee for the Captain.

By way of reply the Captain pulled at the small laurel badge on her collar and showed it to Neelix. "The Colonel said that he introduced these to his regiment, so that the men could show their appreciation of individual acts. I want to do the same on Voyager. There are a whole host of people who deserve to be recognised but won't be until we get home. It might help morale aboard the ship."

"And you would like the Colonel to be one of the first recipients?" Neelix suggested knowingly.

"NO!" The Captain protested righteously. "It is important that the crew put forward the names and decide on the recipients and he thinks that. Or he will refuse. I don't want more than a couple given at a time, or it won't mean anything and I don't want to know the result until it has been decided. That is why I want you to administer it."

"I will need some names to offer," Neelix pondered. "Or I'll have 160 names!"

"Produce your own shortlist," the Captain suggested. She drained her mug and left Neelix to ponder.

Finally he entered six names on a PADD and waited for customers and their opinions.

  


"I tell you Harry, I don't know who is going to take Tuvoks place!" Tom Paris explained. "All I've overheard is that the Colonel refused. Pretty firmly I think, by the Captains face."

They were sat at a corner table in the Mess and Harry Kim was nervous. The prospect of a promotion was in the air and until a year or so ago it would almost certainly have been his. Now there were other candidates and they were prodigies of the Colonel. Somebody who the Captain was known to admire and ask advice from. 

Kim had also decided in his own mind that he had more than failed to impress the cynical soldier. Whenever they were together things always seemed to go wrong for Harry Kim. Declaring he had no wish to fly with the Colonel at the controls probably would not help either. He voiced his opinion.

Their discussion was interrupted by the approach of Seven of Nine.

"Seven. Hi!" Tom declared in relief. "Can you tell Harry who the Colonel recommended for Tactical?"

"No," she said simply.

"I told you," Kim hissed.

Tom grinned. "Harry thinks that the Captain will take the Colonel's advice over tactical," he explained.

Seven of Nine looked questioningly at Kim, the infamous eyebrow arching. "Ensign Kim," she declared stonily. "Your prospects of promotion have not been affected by any opinion expressed by the Colonel. It is a Starfleet issue. He has refused to be consulted on the matter."

"But he was invited to take Tactical himself," Tom pointed out mildly.

"He refused," Seven observed. "He does not belong to Starfleet. Nor is he technically competent for the role offered."

"Okay he hasn't ruined me," Kim agreed grudgingly. "What can we do for you?"

"I wish to emphasise that I do not require additional special treatment to the Colonel before he is informed of my condition. But the Captain refused to permit me to join the Away Team," she explained.

"So?"

"The Colonel has an interest in music of a type known as Rock and Roll. I believe that humans danced to this music and it was energetic. Lieutenant Paris has access to numerous holographic versions of this music."

Tom Paris nodded affirmation and waited expectantly.

"I wish to learn the dances known as 'The Twist' and 'The Jive'?"

Both men swallowed hard. They knew of the dances and learning them would probably be interesting, but not with Seven of Nine. 

Seven of Nines reputation on the dance floor was unenviable. Even if they survived the experience they were unlikely to survive the Colonel when he found out.

"Are you sure?" Tom asked in the end. "You know what they are? They aren't dances, they are free-form wrestling matches. With your Borg enhancements you could end up ripping him in two, let alone us!"

"You will not assist?" She accused.

Tom looked desperately at Harry Kim for support but found none. "You can have my programmes," he offered, "and I'm sure Miller can supply the instruction."

Seven of Nine turned on an angry heel and left.

Corporal Miller proved only slightly more enthusiastic than Tom Paris when Seven of Nine activated him in the holodeck thirty minutes later. After threatening dire consequences if he did not assist and promising a few things if he did, he relented.

After an hour, and pains that made her abdominal problems pale into insignificance she returned to Astrometrics, wiser but no less determined.

  


The Colonel stretched carefully after his session in the hole that the Away Team had dug.

The first batch of crystal had appeared readily enough, but had been rejected by Ensign Abbott due to faults and impurities. They had been working the scrape for a good eight hours, mining out the required Dilithium in short shifts as the oppressive heat and humidity took their toll. The crystals that were being prised from the ground now were perfect. But it was a slow and difficult process and they had only just over half a bucket of crystal to show for it.

He gazed around at the reeds with continued distrust as the evening started to draw around them. Their location felt too much like the plague fields. The small biting insects that had been a nuisance during the day would become far more problematical during the evening.

"I think we will have to call it a day, Sir," his voice rose a little in alarm as a cloud of insects formed over the reeds some distance away.

Chakotay looked up from the pit from where he had taken the Colonel's place and wiped the sweat from his eyes before peering in the direction the Colonel was pointing. The cloud the Colonel had witnessed was milling ominously above the reeds about 400 metres away. One look was enough to have him accepting the Colonel's recommendation. Everybody had suffered at the hands of the insects during the day, the swarm promised insufferable discomfort.

He slapped at a fly that landed on his arm. "Agreed, We'll head back for the landing site," he agreed mildly reaching for his communicator.

Quickly the team gathered their equipment and set off on the circuitous route that had brought them to the outcrop, the Colonel trailing behind them watching the swarm.

"Down!" He yelled suddenly, throwing himself at the two closest crewmen, hurling them into the mud.

Chakotay glanced over his shoulder and saw a dark mass descending on them. Without hesitating he also dived forward, bringing the third crewman down in the process, pressing his struggling form into the mud and water as they were surrounded by flying insects.

The Ensign Abbott at the front was caught in the open. She screamed as thousands of the insects descended upon her before she could follow the actions of the others.

The attack lasted less than a minute, before they lifted away again.

Carefully they rose from the mud, coughing and spluttering, looking around.

"They haven't gone far," Chakotay observed as he spotted the swarm milling barely 200 metres away. "So I assume they will be back."

He turned his attention back to the fallen Ensign Abbott and the Colonel who was examining her. The her face had become a seething mass of red and oozing boils and she was writhing in the mud as the Colonel tried to stop her scratching.

"This needs rather more than 'Waspeeze' and anti-histamine," the Colonel grunted as he finally pinned her hands down. "She needs a medivac."

Chakotay nodded and patted where his communicator usually sat, to find it missing, pulled off in the ooze. "Anybody still got their communicator?" He asked.

The Colonel grinned and reached into the top pocket of his flak jacket. "I always put mine in my pocket when I change into junglies," he admitted handing the device up. "Otherwise somebody might think I was Starfleet?"

"Voyager. Six to beam out, medical emergency," Chakotay demanded as he fitted the communicator to his tunic.

There was a pregnant pause before Harry Kims apologetic voice returned. "I'm having problems with the Transporters, Commander. We need a few minutes."

Chakotay looked at the Colonel. "Have you anything in all those pockets to discourage the insects from another attack?"

The Colonel shrugged. "My midge stick didn't work at home, so I don't carry it anymore. I have a small smoke canister, but it won't last more than a few minutes, and a tube of quinine, but that doesn't stop them biting." 

We'd better keep moving, Chakotay decided.

I've lost the tri-corder, Abbott gasped, her voice barely a whisper from her swollen throat. I dropped it when I was attacked.

Doesn't matter, Duck. I'm sure the Commander will list it Missing in Action', you won't have to pay for it. We'll just follow the sticks, the Colonel grinned encouragingly, struggling to his feet with her in his arms.

They had reached the beam down site before they were attacked again. Again they dived for the safety of the mud.

Voyager to Away Team. We have a lock Commander. But we can only manage two at a time, Kim's voice sounded. We're having trouble with the energisers, he explained.

Take Abbott first, Chakotay demanded. I'll wait until last.

The Colonel looked up from where he was cradling the wheezing Ensign and nodded laying her out for the transporter. I'll wait for the last call, Sir. I'll need fumigating when I'm brought aboard. I can feel a couple of them inside my jacket.

Vaguely Chakotay remembered the Colonel had been slower in taking to the relative safety of the water than he had during the last attack. He took a long look at the Colonel, a number of swellings were marking his face and hands, he was also starting to gasp for air.

You didn't take cover during the last attack, did you? He asked quietly as Abbott and the first crewman dissolved.

Had to stop Ensign Abbott being attacked again, Sir, he admitted. With her breathing like it is, if I pushed her under the water she would have drowned. I kept her covered with my flak jacket.

The Colonel questioned.

Why do you do it? Chakotay demanded. Keep putting others before yourself? You have a wife you will hurt, you love her don't you?

More than anything, the Colonel admitted, sinking to the floor his eyes closing as the lids started to swell. But I also have a promise to keep. I promised the Captain I would protect the ship and crew with my life. Mrs Nine understands that.

  


Ensign Abbott woke the next day to find she had been immobilised on a medical couch and a frantic need to scratch her cheek. She also found she was sharing the sickbay with the Colonel also secured to a medical couch.

Morning Duck, he grinned at her. The Doctor thinks we need to avoid scratching.

But why are you here? She asked in mild confusion. I thought you had escaped the worst of the insects?

I did! But I couldn't let you have all the fun. A couple of them got inside my coat and trousers. Consequently me bum itches like fury, he explained cheerfully. Besides we've all spent some time in here, with the Doctor clucking around worrying about the plague.

She grinned slowly at the thought as a vague memory of her head being pushed under canvas came to mind. You tried to protect me didn't you? She accused.

The Commanders jacket is too thin to offer much protection, Miss. Now I'm sure if you call him, I'm sure the Doctor will be delighted to appear? Perhaps he'll release us?

She drew a breath to do as he suggested then had second thoughts. Corporal Miller said you aren't a proper officer. You're only a sergeant. Is that true?

The Colonel grinned. Sort of, he admitted. I was a sergeant. Then some fool in a flat hat stapled a pip to my shoulder.

He also said NCO's run the army, not officers?

The Colonel thought a little before answering that question. They do, he admitted at last. They've kicked about, they know all the ropes and what is and isn't possible for his squad. Not even a battle-scared old fool like me will ignore what his sergeant tells him. 

Now I've answered your questions, perhaps you can answer one of mine? He asked. How intent are you on the Commander? 

You don't have to answer, he added quickly as Abbott blushed deeply. It has nothing to do with me. It's just that it isn't doing your reputations a lot of good as it stands.

I think I love him, Abbott whispered. He tries to look after me, like you do for Seven?

That's good enough for me, the Colonel accepted quickly. Now you need to find if he thinks the same way. Just remember you don't need to be as big a prize idiot as me to find out.

His voice rose. Come on out, Doctor. You lazy bugger. The young lady wants to go somewhere comfortable!

I must insist upon the correct terminology, the Doctor hissed as he materialised between them.

It's not an emergency, the Colonel observed. So anything that will get you out of bed is good.

You don't use correct terminology in an emergency either, the Doctor snapped in mock irritation and turning his attention to Abbott.

He pondered over his tri-corder for a moment before asking, Any dizziness, headaches, violent itching sensations or other symptoms of having had to talk to the caveman?

My cheek itches, Abbott admitted.

I'll give you some cream, the Doctor agreed releasing the restraints. You should rest until your next shift.

What about me, Doctor? The Colonel demanded. It's only me bum that's itching. Why can't I go?

I wish to carry out more tests. There was some unusual brain activity whilst you were unconscious, the Doctor explained. You will remain where you are until I am satisfied.

Tests be blowed, the Colonel hissed struggling with the forcefield that held him. 

And come near me with your knockout drops an I'll make you eat them! He added as the Doctor approached hefting a heavy hypo-spray.

The Doctor turned and left him alone in the alcove.

Come on, Doc! The Colonel pleaded to his retreating back. Fair's fair. Aven't I been a good boy long enough?

I'll find Seven and get her to come along? Abbott offered approaching his bed. I'm sure she can persuade the Doctor to release you.

She grinned and pecked him on the forehead. Then giggled as he blushed.

She followed the Doctor to pick up the promised cream, leaving the Colonel to fume.

  


What can I get for you, Seven? Neelix asked Seven of Nine as she limped lightly into the Mess. Perhaps you would care to add your vote to the awards? For the Colonel perhaps?

Seven regarded him coldly, taking her usual confrontational stance. I have no need to vote for the Colonel, she declared. He performs to specification. Rewarding him for so doing is illogical, he would refuse.

But he does things no one else can! Neelix protested.

You are in error, Seven retorted. There are crew members that can achieve the same roles as the Colonel fulfils. The Colonel is unique aboard this ship in that he brings those roles together.

You are preparing a Party' for your rewards ceremony? She challenged, before Neelix could protest again. I wish to provide the entertainment.

The statement took Neelix by surprise and it showed clearly on his face. he said slowly after some thought. Are you sure? Will it be suitable, the Captain wants something light. What are you intending?

It will be suitable and educational, Seven assured him calmly.

Neelix pondered her assurance, very carefully. Seven was an onlooker and occasional participant, usually only after much encouragement. She had never volunteered to arrange anything, certainly not entertainment. He almost shuddered at what she might include. The thought of lessons in advanced Astrometric Navigational Mathematics slipped through his mind. It was dismissed quickly, that would be the Doctors idea and she and her humanity had outgrown that.

I suppose it will be okay, Neelix agreed uncertainly, deciding he would arrange an alternative just in case. 

The Captain wants the party tonight on Holodeck 1, he called after her. Seven was already marching for the door to make her preparations.

  


Captain Janeway looked up from her copy of the away team and ships debriefings and looked directly at where Chakotay normally sat opposite her desk.

She sighed wistfully. The ship and crew were all performing at an all time low. The dilithium expedition was a near disaster. There had been too much complacency. She reflected. Most of it was hers for thinking it would be routine, not having a full set of environmental scans done and chasing Engineering to get the transporters fixed.

Even the Colonel had not been immune. But that was probably her fault as well! She had seen he was worrying about something else

She sighed again. I expect him to be at least as reliable as a tri-corder. Perhaps I put too much faith in him? She wondered aloud.

She wished Chakotay was there to give gentle thoughts and guidance, the problems needed to be sorted and quickly. Except that he had insisted on the need to debrief that girl again.

In resignation she stood and strode out of her quarters. A walk before the party might relieve her mood. The fact that it was directed towards the quarters shared between Seven and the Colonel had nothing to do with it.

  


Arriving at the door she self-consciously pulled at her jacket to straighten it and tightened up the collar, before announcing her presence. Not that she was nervous, she tried to tell herself as she responded to Seven's invitation to enter. It was just to compliment the standards the Colonel set for himself when visiting.

She managed to take four steps into the room before what her eyes registered stopped her in shock.

Seven of Nine was sat at the table regarding herself in a small mirror. Neatly arranged across the tables surface were a huge range of phials and jars and a carefully discarded, but empty, make-up bag. 

Then there was Seven herself, dressed in a pale pink skirt and blouse she looked as unSevenesque as it was possible to get. The Captain had an even greater surprise when she turned around in her seat.

She had hit the cosmetics big time.

Although she had applied the make-up in the right places; lipstick on her lips, blusher on her cheeks and so on. Seven had made the fateful mistake of applying too much, trying to make up for the minute errors she had inevitably made and picked up upon by applying more.

Seven! What have you done? All thoughts of her own problems left the Captains mind in one exasperated explosion.

Seven of Nine gazed back with mild surprise showing on her face. The details are necessary for the entertainment this evening. I believe I have made some errors in the application of the makeup.

The Captain repeated. You are intending to tell the Colonel you are pregnant? She hazarded carefully.

Affirmative. I believe he will be more amenable to the information if he is enjoying himself.

I think you had better tell me what you have planned, the Captain sighed. If only so I can ensure that there is security available. If he sees you like that he won't be enjoying himself. He'll be bouncing off of the walls too fast!

The Colonel has expressed an interest in and knowledge of Earth Rock and Roll, Seven explained.

the Captain agreed, kneeling in front of Seven she reached for a pack of wipes and started to remove make up. He would have been a teenager then.

I have carried out research into the music. I have discovered that people performed energetic dances to the music, Seven continued. I intend to engage the Colonel in dances of the period to prove I am capable of performing adequately in spite of my condition. The garments were part of the uniform worn at that time.

With a practised hand the Captain tossed a wipe at the recycler. It missed and she tsked in annoyance, before reaching for another. She paused before applying it. Never before had she felt more like a mother; kneeling before her daughter, cleaning her up and passing good motherly advice.

she started gently. In all the huge steps you have made in finding humanity, I think you've missed some important ones. Be what you are. You don't have to try and hide things from people, you will never be very good at it. Certainly not with the man you've chosen.

You believe the preparations are unnecessary? Seven queried uncertainly.

Candidly, Yes! The Captain asserted. He is going to furious with you for not telling him sooner anyhow, slapping makeup around and dressing like an Andoran hooker won't help.

Besides pink doesn't suit you, she added with a hint of a smile. Now get dressed properly and I'll see about finding him?

I asked the Doctor to detain him, Seven said as the Captain started for the door.

  


If you've come to gloat at my predicament then you can sod off as well, Ma'am, the Colonel observed lightly from his still restrained and recumbent position on the bio-bed as she entered the Sick Bay. And if you would be so good as to turn the lights out as you go, a chap might get some sleep.

Actually I came to release you. Seven had something special arranged for you, the Captain responded in kind. But as you seem to be comfortable, I'll leave you here.

You don't have to do that, Ma'am. Just get me off this plank. I'd rather do a month in the Can than spend a day strapped to a doctors slab!

The Captain grinned and released the forcefield and watched as he slowly flexed his limbs and scratched.

Would it be a violation of trust if you told me what Mrs Nine has planned? The Colonel asked after a few moments. It's just that I never seem to come out ahead when she decides to surprise me.

the Captain affirmed. Come on, I'll take you down to the Holodeck now.

Via quarters, Ma'am? The Colonel sighed. Whatever it is, I doubt combat kit will be suitable.

the Captain agreed. I want your advice anyhow.

  


Twenty minutes later Captain Janeway and the Colonel appeared on the holodeck arms linked. They released each other tactfully as Seven of Nine approached and the Captain sank into a chair. To Seven, she looked as if she had received a shock.

Is Commander Chakotay here yet, Seven? The Colonel whispered as he took her into his arms and nuzzled her neck affectionately.

Seven nodded towards the far wall where Chakotay and Ensign Abbott were sat at a small table with a small group of crewmen.

We'll let the Captain come to her senses in peace then, the Colonel decided. What is this great surprise you have?

It will begin shortly, Seven assured him.

Do you wish to give out the rewards, Captain? Neelix asked approaching the Captain with some caution and offering her a PADD. Then we can get started?

I suppose I ought, she declared, putting her own problems aside with a small smile. Lets look at the results?

She took the offered PADD and scanned the four names.

He's not on here! She exclaimed in surprise.

No, Captain, Neelix admitted with an apologetic shake of the head. You only wanted a few given and the Colonel came well down the list, below even me. I think people just expect him to be there when he's needed.

The Captains face fell. That is what he expects people to think. So people do, she muttered. I really hoped I would prove him wrong for once. Well lets get it done with.

She stood and made way resolutely towards the stage that had been arranged in the corner of the Holodeck and cleared her throat.

Crew and family of Voyager, she began bringing the crew to order. Several years ago the Colonel presented me with a laurel badge, his regimental award for those that performed above and beyond the call of duty and achieved something that could not normally be expected of them. I admit I am still proud of it and I regret that there are many people aboard that deserve some recognition, but may never do so for a long time, if ever. So I asked Neelix to introduce a similar scheme for Voyager. He has presented me with six names of those you believe have met those same requirements.

The Captain paused for a moment before continuing. The following had better step forward: Ensigns Claris Winston, Llinos Abbott, Lieutenant Joe Caerey, Corporal Christopher Miller. All for their actions against the Borg. 

With the exception of the holographic Corporal all stepped forward, Winston managing a passable attempt at the Colonel's halt, right knee coming high before the foot crashed to the floor.

Corporal Miller appeared more hesitantly. I'm sorry, Ma'am. I am not permitted to accept without express permission.

The Captain covered her surprise with a grin and looked directly at the Colonel, leaning on the bar. Can he accept? She asked hopefully. He was acting on behalf of Starfleet?

If he can manage to at least look as if he belonged to the British Army and not some cast-off from the Sally-Ann, then I grant permission as Senior British Officer, the Colonel agreed with some amusement. Carry on Corporal,

Corporal Miller snapped a pristine salute. His image flickered for a moment and he reappeared in full ceremonial, before he marched crisply to join the medals parade.

The still smiling Captain picked out her small badges and attached them firmly to the collars of her crew, until she arrived at Ensign Abbott. 

For a brief moment the smile faltered as her brown eyes met with Abbott's green ones. Then she blinked and the smile was regained. 

I think we have witnessed a remarkable change in you Ensign. Congratulations! She declared evenly as she quickly pinned the badge in place. Just as quickly she turned away and nodded to Neelix, before rejoining the Colonel.

From the cue, Neelix activated the holographic programme Seven of Nine had supplied.

Five figures materialised and immediately launched into the first of the pieces Seven had researched.

The Colonel's face changed slowly from surprise as he recognised the song to one of delight. You've been diving amongst the dodgy histories again, he declared to Seven grinning broadly. Peggy Sue is one we used to play.

Don't tell me you used to be a Rock band? The Captain gasped. What as lead?

No Ma'am, the Colonel assured her. We were Skiffle. Couldn't afford drums on four shillings a week after stoppages. I was on washboard and fire bucket, Tommy Murphy on Tea-Base, Tommy Johns on Banjo and Tommy Wiseman did vocals and spoons. Called ourselves The Tommies', until Her Majesty called us to other duties.

I think you had better tell me the story at some other time, Captain Janeway grinned. I can tell it is one of those I won't believe and Seven is impatient for her dance.

The Colonel queried carefully turning back to Seven. Only ever watched it. Never had the courage to ever ask a girl to join me.

"Nobody can until they try, you should follow me, Seven paraphrased sternly. Gripping him firmly by the arm she led him to the dance floor.

The Captain settled to watch the display with fascination. 

Seven of Nine was throwing herself into the action with enthusiasm as she attempted to make her point. The Colonel after some trepidation started by following Seven's commands to the letter, then gained in confidence and ambition, rolling her over his back, letting her spin through the splits and finally a toss into the air, catching her safely and carrying into an orbit around himself.

As a display of faith and trust between them, the Captain decided, it was total. Seven had total faith in the Colonel's abilities to catch her, the Colonel in Seven's instructions being totally accurate. She wondered if she would ever be able to do the same.

It's very impressive, Captain, Neelix observed respectfully from the other side of the counter. But is it dancing and will it work?

I don't know if it is or not, the Captain admitted. But it ought to! I don't think Seven has touched the floor with her feet more than the four times in the last three minutes!

The sight of several other of the ships romances heading for the floor made her smile again. Tom and B'Elanna wouldn't be daft enough to try the same moves. B'Elanna would flatten Tom if he tried to swing her around. But it was not impossible that Winston and Kala might try some of the less ambitious efforts, she decided.

I now remember the other good reason for not dancing like that, a red faced and blown Colonel commented as he rejoined the Captain at the bar rubbing his shoulder gingerly. It damn well hurts! 

But you were enjoying yourself, the Captain challenged happily.

Yes, well it's a once in a while thing, Ma'am, the Colonel assured her. Unless you want to try?

The Captain shook her head. I'm too old, she declared, And I have my dignity.

Not as old as I am, Ma'am, the Colonel pointed out pragmatically before returning his attention to Seven of Nine. I'm surprised you didn't turn up in circular skirt and bobby socks?

The Captain advised it was unnecessary to make my point, Seven stated calmly.

The Colonel questioned.

That I do not require special care, Seven explained.

Special care? He questioned again.

While I am pregnant.

The Colonel was showing signs of confusion now.

A generic term given to a female that is to bear live young, Seven defined.

I know what pregnancy is, the Colonel agreed. Who is?

I am.

The Captain, Seven and Neelix watched the news visibly filter through the Colonel as he sank onto a chair, his face draining of colour. Automatically his arm reached out and grabbed at the first glass it met and he drained it, ignoring the flowers that had been placed in it.

I think I am hearing things, he whispered. I swear you just said you are pregnant?

Your hearing is not impaired, Seven assured him, enjoying her moment.

And you let me do that with you? And you let her Captain?

Seven thought you would get over protective and I agree with her, the Captain agreed. She does not need it.

But it was dangerous. You could have got hurt and the baby! The Colonel complained. How long have you known?

Ten days, nine hours, thirty four minutes. We believe that I have been in this state for five weeks. The danger was minimal you are an efficient partner, Seven declared.

The Colonel wasn't listening. He was muttering over to himself. A baby. I am going to have a baby.

Finally he looked up. You wicked girl. Why didn't you tell me earlier? He demanded with dignity, then broke down in tears.

Seven, take him away, a shocked Captain ordered softly. You've made your point. Now you'll have to make it up to him.

Seven nodded and gently supported her sobbing husband as he rose to his feet, then half carried him towards the door as the rest of the crew watched in silence.

  


Well that is a rarity, Kim commented to Megan and Jenny Delaney as they watched the couple disappear from sight. Who would have thought he could go to pieces like that!

I think it's rather sweet, Jenny giggled. Hard as deuterium armour outside and as squidgy as Neelix's custard inside.

We could make you like that if we wanted, Megan cautioned.

  


You aren't going to tell me like that when it's our turn? Tom asked B'Elanna with trepidation.

I'm not going to tell you at all. Until I push it in to your arms, B'Elanna assured him happily. But then you aren't the Colonel. You're soft all the way through!

  


For a few minutes the Captain reflected upon the events as the party started to get underway again. She had been in agreement with Seven the Colonel would have become over protective. But from the display, she had not realised just how protective the Colonel would be, how desperate he was, or how cruel what Seven had arranged would prove to be.

I think Seven will be a dangerous person to be near, the Doctor suggested. The news has made him unstable. I'll follow them and give him something to calm him down.

Just let him recover with Seven. She knows what to do, she's done it before, the Captain snapped. He'll be alright in a few minutes, then we can forget just how weak he can be again.

I will need to do a psychological profile, the Doctor argued. If he can be brought into this state simply learning that his wife is pregnant, there is no telling what he would be like if she was in any form of danger.

I know what he'll do, the Captain hissed. I don't need I PADD for that. I've seen it. He will be totally ruthless in dealing with the danger. Then release the emotion afterwards. You will leave him alone unless Seven asks for help.

With that she turned away and marched towards the door. She had intended to deal with her other problems before she left, but events had rendered her incapable of dealing with them, perhaps tomorrow would be easier.

  


Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway. 

The Captain had barely reached the door of her quarters before Seven of Nine's voice rattled her communicator. 

Yes Seven, what's up? She asked with a sense of trepidation.

You should report to the Mess, Seven declared. The Colonel requires your advice.

With a sigh the Captain turned and made her way back towards the Mess.

She found them sat at a window table and almost grinned as the Colonel sprang to his feet and saluted her, seemingly fully recovered.

Permission to speak, Ma'am? He requested formally.

What advice do you want, Colonel? She asked.

Not so much advice as answers, Ma'am.

Carry on Colonel, she agreed mildly.

First I formally apologise for my reactions earlier, Ma'am, he commenced. It was unseemly of me and embarrassed yourself and a number of the crew. Do you want me to make a formal and public apology to those concerned?

I don't think it will be necessary. But could you do that? She asked incredulously.

The Colonel nodded. I thought Mrs Nine had stopped looking and hoping, Ma'am. I think it was relief.

The second request, Ma'am, the Colonel continued. Mrs Nine has explained what she requires me not to do. I will not be able to comply to all her wishes. We have compromised and I have promised to try and keep to them. I will need help, Ma'am.

What sort of help? The Captain demanded warily.

Somebody who will tell me in no uncertain terms when I go wrong and isn't afraid to shoot me when I lose control, Ma'am.

Why shoot? She asked in alarm.

Because it will be the only way to stop me, Ma'am. I will hand my weapons to Ensign T'Pau tomorrow morning.

Okay, I'll help when I can, the Captain agreed. But I'm not shooting you unless you are a danger to the ship. If you think you are treading near the mark you can come and see me and we can discuss things until you are comfortable again. Agreed?

Good. Now good night, the Captain declared turning to go. Go and get used to the idea of being a father in waiting.

There was one other thing, Ma'am, the Colonel interrupted. We would like your permission to call the baby Kathryn' if it is a girl?

The Captain stopped and turned slowly. Why ask? She demanded. 

It is traditional to request permission to use the name of the commanding officer, Ma'am, the Colonel assured her.

Ask me nearer the time, the Captain sighed. Good Night!

  


  


  


14563

Revision 51


	3. Captain Wildman

1-29 Captain Wildman

**Captain Wildman**

_A Holodeck fault strands Colonel Samuels and Naomi Wildman on a strange ship in a strange Universe._

_Voyager and the characters aboard her (except the Colonel and additional characters) in this story are copyright of Paramount. No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead._

_The story line and the Colonel are my own._

_Constructive criticism and comments are welcome on e-mail _story@rgower.plus.com 

_If like me you like to know why things occur like they do, I would heartily recommend you start at chapter 1-01 Castaway. _

_This story is rated PG13 _

_©R Gower 2001_

  


We have three candidates. Ensigns Kim, Carver and Winston, Captain Janeway offered guardedly to Chakotay. 

The need to find a replacement for Tuvok to handle tactical was an imperative. The taciturn Vulcan had entered his final attempt at the Healing Trance' to attempt the cure for his paralysis over a week ago. For various reasons they had simply put the decision off, as Voyager had made boundless jumps with her Transwarp Drive. In ten days they had covered over two thousand light years and crew morale had leapt because off the rapid progress. But now they were reduced to ordinary warp speeds as B'Elanna had curtailed their progress in fear of her rapidly diminishing supply of Dilithium. The Captain and Commander were forced to discuss the matter with each other formally.

Harry is overdue his pips, Chakotay observed. I think he keeps looking under his pillow to see if they've arrived overnight.

But would you recommend him for Tactical?

Chakotay shrugged. I don't think his heart would be in it, he admitted.

He is popular, quick to respond and calm, Chakotay agreed, inspecting his copy of the crew reports. He could become quite good. But Winston is more inventive, has the confidence and has had command experience on other ships.

His reports suggest he is inclined to disobey orders and attempts to react irrationally and independently, for self preservation and not for the good of those around him the Captain observed. He finds being part of a team difficult. It was one of the reasons for his demotion.

I agree with the comments about independence, Chakotay agreed mildly. He pretty well commandeered Argonaut. But he has mellowed and learnt a lot on the Dog Watch. He reacts very different to how he did in the reports. In fact I'd say the whole of the Dog Watch have taken the Colonel's lessons to heart.

I think that is the point, the Captain interjected. We are considering Winston and Carver over Harry Kim because they have been drilled and conditioned to think like nobody aboard the ship. Remember we are looking for the third officer aboard ship, they will have to be able to take command of Voyager, possibly in dangerous situations.

Chakotay made a face somewhere between grin and grimace. The training manuals were torn up and ceremonially burnt when we gave the Colonel the Dog Watch, he observed. But I agree, if there is trouble, there is nobody I would rather stand behind for protection than the Colonel and his methods have rubbed off on both Winston and Carver.

He paused for a moment. I don't know if I would be entirely happy with Winston yet, he admitted reflectively. He gives the impression of being just a little too eager for command. Perhaps a secondary watch?

I think we need to break with tradition, the Captain decided. I'll give Carver Tactical and see how he performs. Harry has had some command experience, even if it hasn't been dangerous. We'll push that. And Winston can build on his command experience by taking the Dog Watch from the Colonel.

she added with a grin. Just because he has refused to be given the ship, doesn't mean he won't take it when things get rough and we need him.

Chakotay under no delusions as to who she was referring simply nodded.

she finished. We'll give them the news. It will close one of the rumours off. Then you can go and look after the other.

Chakotay blushed a mild pink. I've told you Kathryn. There is really nothing in it! He protested quickly.

Too quickly for the Captains taste, but she let it ride as she summoned the three candidates.

  


Whumpf! Whumpf! Whumpf!

The heavy punch bag shivered as it received yet another salvo of blows from heavy fists. The leatherwork was starting to look worse for wear from the almost continuous bombardment it had received during the last hour, B'Elanna decided straightening up from her own exercises on the bench press.

The Colonel had offered the simulation to her after she had confessed over breakfast in the Mess that she had had a bad night shift, suggesting it was the safest way of removing the frustrations, especially for Tom. She had laughed and good naturedly offered to share it with him.

Now tired and far more relaxed she wiped her face on a towel and watched the tall Colonel attempting to demolish the sack, in a mixture of awe and amusement. If her night in Engineering had been frustrating enough for an hour of hard physical callisthenics, then the Colonels must have been much worse. Where as her vest and jogging pants had soaked up the sweat, there was a positive pool around the Colonels feet as he put all of his energy into attacking the sack.

Carefully she stood and approached him. I don't think you'll split it before there is a knock on the door, no matter how hard you hit it, she opined easily.

Who? What? Where? The Colonel blurted coming to a sudden stop as his concentration was broken.

I'm sorry Lieutenant. I was getting carried away, he apologised with a grin and accepting the towel she offered.

Seven's pregnancy is hard work? B'Elanna suggested mildly, noticing that the damage from the Colonel's efforts had not been entirely one way. His knuckles had been badly scuffed and blood was oozing. 

You had better let me look at those, she ordered grabbing his hand.

Much harder for me than her at the moment, the Colonel admitted, allowing himself to be led towards the medical cabinet.

You know, she won't even let me get her a cup of tea in the morning? He complained. She was never that independent before!

Perhaps she doesn't want tannin poisoning as well as backache? B'Elanna suggested happily, running the medikit regenerator over his knuckles.

I've been very good! The Colonel protested. I can make it as weak as Mr Neelix now! Even worked out how to get the replicator to over-sweeten it for her!

She has developed a sweet-tooth, B'Elanna agreed. But I still think the way she told you was cruel.

In fact Seven of Nine's approach to telling the Colonel she was expecting a baby had gained him a notable amount of sympathy from a large proportion of the crew.

Dare say I deserved it. And she was probably right. I would have been an insufferable bore, the Colonel sighed. I think I would really hate me. If I were to meet me somewhere. Of course I will be fascinated to see how it is supposed to be done when you tell Mr Paris?

Tom and I aren't planning anything, B'Elanna protested quickly.

Mrs Paris. I can tell you, with great certainty. Babies happen, planned or not! The Colonel declared with great conviction. Now I thank you profusely for permitting me to share your programme and patching me up again, but must dash or I'll be late for my luncheon date.

Bit early isn't it. It's not 10:00. Who is it with? B'Elanna challenged. It can't be Seven. She's regenerating. So perhaps I can start a new rumour?

Miss Naomi Wildman. She wants me to take her on a picnic in the woods, the Colonel admitted. All above board I assure you. I got permission from Mrs Nine first.

  


Have you heard the story about Commander Chakotay and Ensign Abbott? Naomi asked cheerfully as the Colonel appeared for their holodeck appointment. They are going to be married!

For a brief moment the Colonel's face darkened then brightened again. I've heard better ones, he countered. The Captain wants to replace all the crew over the age of sixteen. 

That's silly. There is only me and I'm only half as efficient as Seven, Naomi giggled.

So are most stories on the surface, the Colonel confided. That is why they are stories. Now what have you got planned for me that requires an all day session? Another of your holo-lessons to embarrass me because I don't understand it, or something I will be really bad at?

I thought we could do my natural history project? Naomi confessed. Ensign Hemmark gave me this programme to see how many animals and plants I could identify.

The Colonel grinned. I don't know if I'll be able to help much, he admitted. My limit is finding things to eat and hit people with. Still we'll give it a go.

The holodeck opened to display a lightly wooded countryside.

Not bad, the Colonel confessed after a moments glance. That is a lime tree, a couple of oaks, spruce, ash. Don't see those together mind. But I suppose for a learning thing it's okay. What else can you see?

That's a silver birch, Naomi declared proudly, pointing at a silver trunk, and a raspberry bush?

Actually I think it's a loganberry, the Colonel corrected her. Try your tri-corder on it.

Naomi did so, then pulled a face at him as the tri-corder offered its answer. Are you always right? she complained.

Not always, the Colonel confided. But this is all simple stuff. I dare say we will find how wrong I can be later. Come on. He offered a large hand to her and they strolled further into the programme.

  


The Bridge lift door slid open and Ensign Carver stepped out, not nervously or timidly, it was a trait that his previous shift commander stamped on with great vigour, but firmly, slamming to attention just over the threshold.

Ensign Herbert Carver reporting for duty, Ma'am! He snapped.

The Captain turned in her seat and flashed him a smile, she had never heard him admit to his Christian name before. Don't you start! She scolded lightly. It's bad enough with the Colonel. At least he has an excuse. Take your station Ensign and welcome to the Alpha watch.

There was the faintest of bumps in the ships smooth progress, it would not have been noticed except a small alarm flashed upon the console in front of Ensign Kim.

We struck an energy pulse, Captain, he reported dutifully. It tripped a couple of relays on the holodecks, but there was nothing running. Engineering are responding. No damage reported.

What sort of pulse? Chakotay enquired neutrally.

Kim advised after a quick recheck of his instruments.

  


The Colonel produced cups and a thermos-flask and offered a drink to Naomi as they sat and rested, their backs against a large Bilbao tree. Now as they sat they compared notes of what they had actually seen. 

So far Naomi had managed to identify 60 species of fauna and, with gentle coaxing from the Colonel, six sets of tracks. She was proud of the last, she had had to decipher them without the aid of the tri-corder, using her best judgement. Then she and the Colonel followed them to check if she was right.

The Colonel had noted a couple more, but freely admitted not knowing what any of them were by name. Even those he had named, the names he used could not be matched with Naomi's ever correct tri-corder.

I think a lot of the names have changed over the years, he sighed. Names like Ladies Fingers' are country names. They often had a totally different name in the next county. Even village, if it comes to that. If you can remember them, you ought to quote the latin names at Ensign Hemmark, if he tests you. You'll gain extra points for that.

I think your names are nicer than the proper ones, Naomi protested, looking at the small bunch of colourful flowers that they had picked as they had strolled. They describe them better! 

M'ybe. But nobody will recognise them.

They settled into a comfortable silence as they finished their tea.

I want to be a soldier like you, when I grow up, Naomi suddenly announced. You know all of these things, yet you never had to learn.

The Colonel halfway through swallowing the remains of his tea, choked violently, spurting warm brown fluid over his jacket.

No you don't! He snapped as he patted at the damp patch with a handkerchief. You are too intelligent to be a soldier. Becoming a soldier is strictly for those that can't do anything else.

You don't have to volunteer to be killed to learn like me. Just remember that the locals may have a better idea as to what you are looking at than you do, then you will look clever as well. Remember it has taken me fifty years to learn these things that you find impressive. But I need to use paper and pen to do sums you can do in your head!

He stretched lazily, checked his wristwatch and smiled gently at Naomi's horror struck face. Come on another forty minutes to see what we have missed, then we can call it a day and you can help me with a little project.

What's that? Naomi demanded, cheering up again.

I thought I ought to get at least a little revenge, the Colonel confided. So I think I've found a little gift to do it with.

  


There was something a little odd, the Colonel decided when they stepped out of the holodeck. The corridor was empty, it was unusual at almost anytime of day and it was the middle of the afternoon. He ignored the feeling it generated and offered Naomi his hand, together they wandered towards his quarters

What do you want me to do? Naomi asked happily as they entered.

I found some drawings of a Chinese Puzzle Box' in the computer yesterday, the Colonel explained. I want to make one, but I haven't the time to make it from real materials. I'm hoping you can replicate the parts for me.

What is a puzzle box? Naomi asked curiously. 

It is a little box with secret compartments that can only be opened by releasing sometimes secret triggers and latches in a precise order, the Colonel described. Obviously as it is Mrs Nine we are going to have to make some of those latches very secret. But I thought if I stole her tri-corder to stop her cheating, even put it in the box, along with a few other little treasures, she would be kept amused for a while trying to gain access.

Naomi scanned the drawings of the parts the Colonel wanted with some trepidation. She might well be more capable with the replicator than the Colonel, but everybody was. She suspected getting the parts he actually wanted was going to be beyond her. She voiced that concern to the Colonel.

Most of the parts are simple wooden rectangles and squares, he said gently. If you can do those and provide simple strips of metal, I can make the latches.

  


The end of an uneventful shift loomed on the Bridge. Captain Janeway, bored with watching the few stars slip by, stood and stretched before heading for her Ready Room and a coffee. Chakotay was taking the following watch and they knew each other well enough not to need to brief each other. Not there was anything to say.

The door had opened for her before the worried voice of Ensign Wildman sounded. Ensign Wildman to the Bridge. Do you have the Colonel or Naomi up there?

No they aren't, the Captain responded quickly. Aren't they in the Mess with Neelix?

No, Captain. He hasn't seen them since this morning. They're not in the Colonel's or my quarters either. I checked first.

Cargo Bay 2? Seven is about due to come out of regeneration, so the Colonel will go there. Perhaps Naomi went with him? The Captain suggested.

They're not! I've been there too. The computer can't find them either! Samantha Wildman was starting to sound desperate. 

The Captain turned a questioning eye on Carver who was busy at his terminal. He looked up and shook his head as he caught her eye, confirming Wildman's claim. 

No shuttle, airlock or transporter activity for the last two weeks. Starting a deck by deck search, Ma'am, he reported calmly. Activated six security teams and put out a general alert. We'll find them.

The Captain smiled. Carver had over heard the conversation and had reacted immediately. He was going to prove to be a good substitute for Tuvok.

We'll find them Samantha, she parroted turning back for her seat to await the conclusion. The Colonel was going to need another reprimand for removing his communicator if nothing else.

  


Aren't you getting hungry? The Colonel asked mildly, looking up from the complex assembly operation. 

He and Naomi had been working on the box for what felt like hours, yet the chronometer on the wall suggested it had been barely three, the gnawing feeling in his stomach suggested much longer still, though recently it had been a less than reliable time piece, thanks at least in part to the Doctors new regeneration scheme for Seven of Nine.

I was, but I ate some of the sweets you replicated, Naomi admitted. They were nice.

They were to go in the secret pockets! The Colonel chided in mock horror, looking at the now empty container that had contained a full pound of fudge.

I can make some more! Naomi offered quickly. I'm sure mommy won't mind and has the rations?

I think your mother has enough problems keeping you in clothes, the Colonel observed with a wry grin. I'm surprised you still fit after polishing off that lot! Oh well, we're nearly finished. Another half hour then we can go and get something from the Mess.

  


Colonel Samuels and Naomi Wildman are not on the ship, Captain, Carver announced to the Captain. The search had taken nearly six hours and she was becoming anxious.

You've had everywhere checked? She demanded.

Down to the landing strut bays, ventilation ducts and last Jefferies tube, Carver admitted. Even had Engineering check bulkhead spaces. I've even had the frequencies that his implant uses scanned. Unless the Colonel really doesn't want to be found and has found somewhere that the ship doesn't know about, then he is not on the ship.

Captain Janeway slumped back in her chair, stumped for any alternatives to offer for the search. Carver had managed to check in places not normally accessible, the space between the inner and outer hulls for instance.

I'm going to get Seven, if she can't work out where he's gone then nobody can. I'll bring Sam Wildman up as well, she said heavily, rising to her feet. We need to put our heads together. Staff conference in forty minutes.

  


Seven of Nine's eyes snapped open as if she had just been switched on. Not far from the truth as the Captain had simply aborted the regeneration cycle. 

Warning, regeneration cycle has been terminated. Warning, regeneration cycle not completed, the computers warning bleats of protest were the first thing to register on Seven of Nines mind as she scanned for the reason behind the interruption. 

She saw the Captain at the terminal in front of the alcove and a worried Ensign Wildman behind it, but for once her husband was missing. The last fact puzzled and disappointed her. Despite the illogicality of the act, she had come to appreciate, desire, even enjoy, the embrace and caress that always accompanied the end of a regeneration cycle.

State the reason for termination of my regeneration cycle? She demanded, stepping stiffly from the platform.

The Colonel has disappeared with Naomi Wildman, the Captain explained. I'm hoping you can tell me where he's gone?

I have been in regeneration for 17 hour 35 minutes, Seven of Nine observed impassively. I have not physically witnessed his presence since then.

In that case you had better attend the meeting in the Conference Room, the Captain suggested mildly, gently taking Samantha Wildman by the arm and leading her towards the door.

  


You had better start by listing where you've had searched, the Captain demanded brusquely of Carver in staff conference.

Physical checks in all rooms on the ship, Jefferies Tubes and major ventilation ducts, Carver announced quickly. Full sensor scans of minor ducts and bulkhead spaces. We have all three shuttles and transporter and air lock logs show nothing. There is also the fact the Colonel does not know how to use the transporter, Ma'am.

They are not on the ship, Ma'am, he reinforced firmly.

So when was the last time they were seen? Chakotay demanded.

I saw him this morning, B'Elanna volunteered. We worked out together on Holodeck 2 until just before 10:00. He said he had an appointment with Naomi on a holodeck.

Naomi picked up a packed lunch at 09:30, Neelix confirmed.

The Colonel has traded a number of rations for extended usage of Holodeck 1. Don't know how he manages such a huge surplus, Chakotay confirmed checking his log. But they haven't all been used. The Holodeck was shut down by 14:00.

That was about the time we hit the photonic energy pulse, Kim offered.

It blew two relays on Holodeck Two, B'Elanna recalled. They were fixed. But they didn't affect Holodeck One.

At least nothing was recorded, the Captain mused thoughtfully.

Tom, reverse our course, get us back to where we were when we hit the energy pulse, she demanded making her decision. Harry and Seven, try and trace where it went. It's our only lead. B'Elanna, go over Holodeck 1 with a fine toothed comb. I want to be absolutely certain it is as it was when we hit the pulse. Carver, do another sweep of the ship. Make sure we've not missed anything.

She turned to Samantha Wildman. We will get Naomi back. I promise. We won't stop until we do, she promised quietly as the others departed about their assigned tasks. You can stay with me on the Bridge, then you'll know everything that is happening?

Samantha Wildman gave a brave smile. I'll help Lieutenant Paris, she declared. I've got to feel as though I'm doing something.

The Captain nodded. I'll keep you informed of any news. Neelix stay with her.

Neelix nodded and gently took Samantha's arm. Naomi will be all right, he assured her as they walked out. The Colonel will look after her. He would never leave her alone.

In fact he gets quite annoyed when I leave her in the Mess, he added reflectively.

Yes, but who looks after the Colonel? Samantha asked. We've got Seven!

  


A now ravenous Colonel and Naomi Wildman descended upon the Mess like the avenging angels, to find nobody there.

This isn't right, the Colonel muttered his earlier concerns flaring again.

Naomi, see what's in the fridge, he ordered quietly. I'll try and raise Mr Neelix. He really ought to be here, somewhere, along with at least a dozen others.

There's nothing in the cooler, Naomi reported two minutes later. Or the freezer.

Very odd, the Colonel admitted. I can't raise Mr Neelix or the Captain either. See what you can get out of the replicator. We need something to eat before we go looking.

Naomi turned to the replicator and produced two mugs of soup. She took them to the Colonel who had sat himself at a table and was gazing thoughtfully out of the portal.

What do you see outside? he asked suddenly.

Naomi admitted honestly.

No. Nor do I. Not even a stray star, the Colonel agreed. There were quite a few this morning. I think we will take our mugs upstairs to the Bridge.

  


The Bridge, as the Colonel was starting to suspect, also proved to be devoid of life.

I think we have a problem, he declared sinking into a chair. I think everybody's run off. You are now the proud owner and crew of a space ship, congratulations.

There has to be somebody left! Naomi giggled nervously. Mommy and the Captain wouldn't leave us here on our own!

Not if they had the choice, the Colonel agreed. 

He held out a comforting arm for the young girl as he saw her face drain of colour at the suggestion. She took it and he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting fashion as he did so.

I think we will have to see about rescuing them, he said quietly, when he felt her relax. You know more about how this ship works than I do. Do you think you can put us on a reverse course?

I can get into the navigation logs, Naomi agreed with a sniff and getting up to investigate tactical. But I don't know how to fly the ship.

Nor do I, the Colonel admitted. So we'll do it together. I think it's much like a shuttle, just there are few more knobs. So if we leave the ones we can't work out, we should have enough and not blow us up. Then assuming the engines don't break without Lieutenant Paris offering it blankets and tea, we should be in a postion to work out what to do next in a few hours.

I think we need course 239Zee132, she claimed after a few minutes work at the console. There are no course corrections in the logs and it is the opposite to the one we are on.

Coming to course 239Zed132, Captain, the Colonel parroted calmly, prodding experimentally at the controls.

I'm not the Captain! Naomi giggled.

Sorry, Ma'am, the Colonel apologised quickly. But a ship this size has to have a captain. I'm not allowed, so you're it.

He rose and approached the still giggling Naomi. Pulling the insignia from his epaulettes he fastened them quickly to the strap of Naomi's dungarees before she could protest, then stepped back and saluted her smartly. Rifleman Samuels, J680502, reporting for duty, Ma'am.

Naomi blushed as her giggles descended into gurgles of laughter. You shouldn't tease me! She laughed. I'm only the Captains Helper.

Well we're going to the Captains help, the Colonel observed. Let's see if we can break into some more logs and see what actually happened?

  


I am executing an enhanced Photonic particle beam, Seven announced to the small gathering that had formed in Astrometrics. Detecting the energy pulse has been problematic.

In the four hours since the meeting in the conference room the only positives had all been negatives. Ensign Carver had all but dismantled the ship in a renewed physical search of the ship, all too aware of how well the Colonel could hide himself if he wanted. B'Elanna Paris had examined and tested the Holodecks running level 9 diagnostics on the systems and programmes. The only fault that had shown was an error in a minor subroutine for a bush in Naomi's test programme. Even the attempts to find the energy pulse had so far proven negative. It had forced Kim and Seven of Nine into devising and refining a new configuration for the ships detection systems to allow it to pick up one insignificant pulse at the ranges the Captain was demanding. The Photonic Beam was Seven of Nines latest and last idea.

I have modified the deflector dish to emit a constant stream of photonic particles in an quartering pattern in front of the ship, Seven explained. It will illuminate any photonic displacement it strikes.

Will it work? Samantha Wildman asked uncertainly.

If it strikes the photonic pulse, Seven responded neutrally. However I have not been able to ascertain the precise direction of the pulse after it passed through Voyager. I have had to make some assumptions. Nor do I know the precise velocity. 

It will take some time to locate, she added in the absence of immediate results. I will also require time to establish the nature of the pulse.

Then let us know the results, the Captain agreed, taking the hint and ushering the others out of the room.

Samantha Wildman delayed her departure. Seven. I've got to know, she said quickly. Did you intend to break the Colonel when you told him? I want to know Naomi is safe with him?

Seven regarded her with a raised eyebrow. The Colonel's response was outside those calculated, she admitted. It will not affect his ability to protect crewman Naomi Wildman. With that dismissal she turned her attention to her consoles again.

It was not sufficient for Samantha Wildman. My daughter is missing. Possibly dead and she is in the company of the one man on the ship that knows nothing about it and could deliberately kill her! She screamed. I know it doesn't worry you. But it scares the life out of me!

Again Seven of Nine looked up from her consoles. 

Since my release from the Collective I have found myself caring for a number of people, she said coldly. They include your daughter, Crewman Naomi Wildman. Two of the others I have lost. The third, the Colonel, I thought I had lost through my own inaction. Without exception each placed a successively higher strain upon my emotions. The Colonel has taught me that the time for grief for the loss is only after all possible remedies to the situation have failed. The more effort that is placed into achieving their rescue, the better the probability of a successful rescue. 

The Colonel is my collective, she continued more quietly, her eyes turning down to examine her hands. I do not wish to be an individual again, his presence is therefore essential for my contentment. Until it is confirmed that he is safe aboard this ship. I will continue to work for his successful recovery. Crewman Naomi Wildman is safe by virtue of his presence.

The Captain grabbed Samantha Wildman by the arm and ushered her quickly out the room.

That was unnecessary, she admonished the Ensign. You know the Colonel thinks the world of Naomi. And Seven isn't far behind.

It's my daughter that's missing, Sam pleaded. I don't think Seven is worried about either, after the way she treated him. It's an exercise in logical thinking.

Seven's hurting, the Captain assured her. From the moment I woke her up and he wasn't there. It's enough to start making her a Borg again! She will break if we lose him.

As for the Colonel. I think he needs to be broken every now and then, it's his relief valve. Seven is the only person that knows him well enough to be allowed to do it.

  


The logs Naomi was pulling up from out of the ships computer puzzled the Colonel. Not for what they were telling him, he was relying upon Naomi's better grasp of all things scientific for that. But for the time scales. Naomi had significantly failed to provide anything before 14:00, when they had left the holodeck. That was now well over twelve hours ago.

He was reminded of the fact by Naomi trying to stifle a yawn.

Cap'ns been too long on watch, he declared. Respectfully submit the recommendation that she gains some rest, Ma'am?

But I'm not sleepy! Naomi protested, trying to cover another yawn.

Perhaps I am, she agreed to the Colonels questioning stare. But I don't want to be on my own.

You won't be, the Colonel promised offering a hand to her. I'll tuck you in on the couch in the Ready Room and jam the door open.

Will you play your flute as well? Naomi asked as he settled her down.

I can't. I lost it on the Borg Unimatrix, the Colonel admitted. Will a lullaby do?

Psalm 23, Naomi demanded. It's nice.

The Colonel smiled knowingly and started to sing softly until she dropped off.

Happy she was asleep he returned to the bridge, jamming the door as he had promised and glared at the computer displays. Challenging them to tell him why Voyager had no history before 14:00, when they had left the holodeck. 

There were a lot of smaller items that were worrying him as well. Like why there were no finger marks on the pilots console, the pilots chair was stiff as well and above all why his wrist watch was telling him it was 05:30, whilst the computer was saying it was 02:30.

  


The Colonel's musings were interrupted by a scream from the Ready Room. Without a seconds thought he bounded through the door to find Naomi curled on the couch shivering.

The room. It's closing in! She shrilled.

It's alright, Duck. I'm here! The Colonel soothed, taking her in his arms. It was just a dream.

It isn't! Naomi protested. The desk is closer than it was! I couldn't reach it from the couch before!

The announcement made the Colonel consider the surroundings more carefully. Things did look closer now.

Listen to me, he said softly. I don't know where we are, or what is going on. But we are safe. I need help to keep it that way. We've got to know why there are no logs from before we left the holodeck. Can you find that out?

I'll try, Naomi promised

  


A small indicator showed on the panel beside Seven of Nine's left hand as it was automatically reprogramming the photonic beam for yet another refined search pattern. Just as automatically it stopped, then undid the complicated programming in order to focus the beam on the small target the indicator suggested was there.

The indicator blinked again.

Seven of Nine allowed herself an audible sigh of relief. For over four hours Voyager had religiously followed the course and corrections she had demanded without success. Even she had begun to worry that her deduced course had been wrong. It had led her to repeatedly re-examine the course of the pulse whilst it had been recorded by the ships sensors, each time she had come to the same conclusion and had insisted that the ship remain on its current course.

Now she had a target she bombarded it with everything in the Astrometric arsenal of detection arrays, in the urgent need to determine if it was the right target. Most returned nothing helpful, but one, the one she had configured to detect the approach of Borg threats, did return a weak signal. It was with desperate fingers she decoded the signal. Again much was lost in the sea of sub-space static, but there was a pattern there, enough for her to recognise. It was hers, it could only be the Colonel's transponder.

There was victory and relief in her voice when she reported her findings to the Captain.

We'll be right up! The Captain drawled immediately.

The Captain stood and straightened her jacket, before turning to Samantha Wildman.

She was sprawled across the couch in the Ready Room, where the Captain had brought her after leaving Astrometics. From there Sam had released her feelings in a torrent, blaming everybody and everything for her daughters disappearance; the ship for being in the Delta Quadrant; the Captain for stranding them there; the Colonel for disappearing with her daughter; even Neelix for allowing them to be together.

For several minutes the Captain had let her vent, perplexed at what to do. Then firmly took a leaf from the Colonel's book of man management and had hugged the ensign firmly to her until the torrent of abuse had subsided into sobs, then ultimately into exhausted sleep.

It was only afterwards that she realised it was what she wanted to do herself, tradition and her values had prevented her. They had also prevented her following Samantha's lead.

she called gently, bending over the slumbering ensign and shaking her gently. Sam, Seven's found them!

Huh! What? Samantha Wildman muttered as she regained consciousness again. Then started when she realised where she was. S Sorry Captain!

Never mind. Seven's found the Colonel. We'll go down to Astrometrics and get the full story, the Captain grinned encouragingly at her.

  


Seven of Nine had been busy, the Captain guessed when she and Sam tumbled from the lift. She also guessed that things were not going to be as simple as she would have liked. Seven was clenching her fists and grinding her teeth, never a good sign.

Seven of Nine started with the good news. I have identified a Sub-space signal that can only originate from the Colonel's implant. The pulse has altered course and is on a collision course with Voyager. The presence of the signal suggests a high probability of the presence of Crewman Naomi Wildman.

So why did they disappear and how do we get them back again? The Captain demanded quickly.

I am uncertain, Seven admitted uncomfortably. I have extensively examined the sensor logs of the pulse. I believe it passed through the ship. In particular it centred on Holodeck One and circuitry unique to the Holodeck. I believe they may be trapped on a holographic simulation. I have asked Corporal Miller to examine the particular circuitry and its status at 14:00.

There is a more serious problem, Seven added ominously.

Go on, the Captain prompted in resignation.

The pulse is losing momentum and energy. It is being consumed. The sensor readings have suggested a 20% loss of energy since it was detected.

Which means? Samantha asked in a weak voice, feeling her hopes descend again.

The pulse will not reach us, Seven declared simply.

The Captains hand snapped to her communicator. Captain to Bridge. Maximum warp on present heading. Listen up for corrections from Seven of Nine.

It will be insufficient, Seven advised coldly. The Colonel and Naomi Wildman must reduce power consumption themselves.

Can you contact them? The Captain demanded feeling Samantha sag against her.

Not at this range, Seven confirmed. The implants signature is too garbled to permit communication. By the time we are in range it will be too late.

Keep trying to find a way to contact them. I'll get B'Elanna to go over the Holodeck with Miller again, the Captain decided.

  


I can't find anything before we left the holodeck, Naomi complained after nearly an hours work at the console. It's as though the ship was only turned on at lunch time! It's like the holodeck version of Voyager, everything is new.

There is one? The Colonel asked in surprise.

Yes. I used to play on it, Naomi assured him. When I wanted to pretend to be the Captain.

So we could stop it?

Naomi grinned at him. Computer arch, She demanded confidently.

Command not accessible, the metallic voice of the computer announced.

They looked at each other in surprise.

Computer freeze programme! She tried.

Security clearance required for that command.

Naomi Wildman Gamma 01, Naomi said hopefully, giving the computer her own clearance.

Security clearance code not recognised, the response was immediate.

Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels, J680502. Computer, freeze the damn programme, the Colonel offered.

Security clearance code not recognised.

Computer, I don't suppose a large axe in the vitals is sufficient either? the Colonel offered.

Definition required for Axe'. Definition required for 

Didn't think so, the Colonel grumbled. Oh Lord, I hate computers.

Computer what clearance is required to stop the programme? Naomi asked.

Clearance code required from one of the following: Admiral Paris, Captain Janeway, Yard chief Brunig.

Who are they? the Colonel asked in a whisper.

Naomi shrugged. I think Admiral Paris is Lieutenant Paris's father, Naomi whispered.

So we can't ask him for help, the Colonel opined. Now we know where we are, why is the ship shrinking?

Perhaps there is a power shortage, Naomi offered innocently.

And holo-programmes can only exist on the ship, the Colonel mused. 

Naomi nodded helpfully.

Well perhaps they'll suddenly remember we are here and come and open the doors for us, he suggested. There is certainly no point in playing at rushing around. He hit the controls for warp on the pilots console, bringing the ship to a halt, then sank into Chakotay's seat fingering his comms badge. 

Okay, you've had your fun. Now let us out, he demanded.

There was no reply and he wondered why he was still worried.

  


Seven of Nine noted with some satisfaction the sudden reduction in power loss from the energy pulse and its sudden deceleration. Quickly recalculated intercept times she turned for the door and the Captain's latest briefing.

We think we have a theory, B'Elanna reported on the results of Millers investigations. We think the pulse may have hijacked' a programme from the Holodeck memory buffers.

What was picked up? Chakotay asked mildly.

The Voyager training programme. 

Why wasn't it picked up? The Captain demanded sharply, furious it should have been missed after repeated examinations.

I don't think it's been run for years, even the command over-rides are out of date. It was accessed, but not by the holodeck and it was not run, B'Elanna argued.

You mean they cannot stop it?

That is a desirable condition, Seven came quickly to B'Elanna's defence. Termination of the programme at the incorrect point will result in the termination of the Colonel and Crewman Wildman.

the Captain agreed calming down enough to accept the argument. Have you found a way of catching it before it disappears?

The energy loss has been reduced, Seven announced. But the pulse is now stationary. Voyager will intercept in 60 minutes. We will have approximately 3.5 minutes to remove Crewman Wildman and the Colonel before it ceases to exist.

And getting them out of it? Chakotay asked mildly.

I do not know, Seven admitted uncomfortably.

If they were taken from the Holodeck, could we let it into the Holodeck again? Tom Paris asked. Perhaps we could energise it again?

Navigation and piloting would have to be precise. Within 1 Metre to contain the energy field, Seven observed. It would be possible to modify Astrometrics sensors to provide the level of accuracy required. She looked at Tom questioningly.

I'll do it, he promised.

  


Captain Janeway with Ensign Sam Wildman and the Doctor waited impatiently at the door to Holodeck 1. Waited for the message from the Bridge or Seven of Nine in Astrometrics that it was now safe to enter. It had seemed like a long wait, for fifteen minutes Seven had had Tom juggling the controls at the Con, making finer and finer adjustments to Voyagers position to position the now dangerously weak energy pulse.

Finaly it came, interrupting their nervous pacing.

Chakotay to Captain. We've activated the Holodeck.

Collectively they charged in to find the Colonel hunched in Chakotay's seat, cradling Naomi in his arms.

He whispered fiercely at them. The Captains asleep. She's had a hard day!

The Doctor pushed past the two women and set to work with his tri-corder.

Bugger off, there's a good chap. There is nothing amiss with her that waking in her own bed won't cure, the Colonel insisted, slowly standing, still holding Naomi in his arms.

Naomi stirred as he did so. Are we home yet? She muttered.

Soon will be, Duck, the Colonel whispered encouragingly. Just go to sleep.

He looked questioningly at Samantha. With your permission, Ma'am?

She nodded dumbly and the entourage followed him as he led the way to Naomi's quarters, where he laid her gently in her bunk and slid the duvet over her, before chivying all and sundry from the room, leaving Samantha with her daughter.

Permission to come aboard, Ma'am? He snapped to attention as the door closed behind him.

The Captain, who had been expecting the request since the Holodeck doors opened, nodded an approval and he sagged back against the door frame. 

Would somebody care to tell me what the hell has been going on? He asked. And why we were locked into a Holodeck training programme?

It wasn't intentional, Captain Janeway placated. There was a fault.

You were adaptable, Seven of Nine interrupted, hurrying down the corridor and hurling herself at her husband.

However there were faults in your appraisal of the situation. We shall explore them, she added burrying her head in his shoulder as he took her weight in his arms.

I'll let Seven explain, shall I? The Captain offered, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She backed away before turning and hurrying away.

They didn't hear her.

I'm sure that lump has grown, the Colonel observed in a whisper. I'm sure you used to get a lot closer. Shall we go for some tea so we can find out?

Seven squeezed harder in response. She had not told the Ensign the entire truth earlier she realised. Her husband was more than her collective.

  


The Captain looked up from her desk as the door chime to her quarters. 

Come in! She called aprehensively, putting down the PADD, glad of the interuption but worried who it might be. She did not want to see Chakotay or Seven and the Colonel at the moment.

The Colonel as always had filed his dispatches' just as soon as he had settled. She did not doubt the facts of the report, they would have happened as he had described. But he never included everything either, especially if it included him. It tended to leave a lot for her to imagine from between the lines.

The Captains face broke into a smile as a nervous Naomi Wildman entered. I think congratulations are in order? she offered indicating the PADD she had just abandoned. 

Leaving her desk and stooping towards the girl, she asked with humility. What is it like to be a Captain of a Starship?

Naomi grinned broadly. It was ever so easy, she enthused. The Colonel looked after me, like Commander Chakotay does for you. Then hesitated. I mean like the Colonel does for Seven.

It's the sign of a good second officer, the Captain confided easily. One that looks after his Captain. But it's an even better Captain that learns to let him. Now what can I do for you?

Please, Ma'am, Naomi became serious again. The Colonel lost his flute on the Unimatrix and I know how much he liked to play, but he can't anymore. I wanted to replace it?

The Captain queried, wishing she had thought of the idea. It sounds like an excellent idea. What's the problem?

The computer said it would require 500 replicator rations. Mommy and I have only got 50, Naomi hesitated. I was wondering if I could borrow some? 

Only until the end of the month, she added quickly. I'll do chores and everything for Neelix to pay them back?

The Captain laughed and motioned towards her replicator. I think it is about the only thing he will accept from us, she declared.

Computer replicate one silver tenor flute for Naomi Wildman. Rations overide Janeway Alpha Zero-One.

The replicator shimmered and a flute appeared. Naomi grabbed it eagerly and turned for the door.

Before exiting she turned back again with a serious face. Thank you, Captain. I'll give it to him at breakfast, she said formally. Then added, It's not true what they say about the Commander and Ensign Abbott.

Then she was gone, leaving the Captain slightly unsettled by the announcement.

  


The Captain tried to make herself inconspicuous at breakfast. There was no way she was going to miss the events to come. Inconspicuous was an impossible task. The Captain rarely appeared in a the Mess for breakfast and eyes followed her around. Instead she went for the obvious and took a chair with Seven and the Colonel.

I thought you didn't like sweet things? She teased Seven of Nine lightly, eyeing her plate and the three pancakes with syrup.

I find the desire for sweet objects, frivolous. They interfere with efficiency, Seven of Nine reported calmly. The choice of Banana Pancakes with syrup reduces the desire and provides some nutritional benefit.

And you haven't punished your husband too severely?

He has been made aware of certain errors in his assumptions, Seven agreed.

Further conversation was interrupted by the approach of Naomi and Samantha Wildman, their hands behind their backs.

I've come to return this to you, Naomi announced pushing an epaulette into the the Colonel's hand, and to give you this. As a thank you? She held a long package towards him.

But it must have cost a months rations! He protested unwrapping the parcel to reveal the flute. Nothing is worth that!

And you are worth more than nothing, the Captain retorted, fearing he was going to reject the gift. Besides Deck Three is boring now you don't seranade Seven at night with it.

The Colonel grinned sheepishly and bowed low before Naomi. I accept the gift, Ma'am, he declared graciously. And with the Captain's and your mother's permission I've a little gift for you. He looked hopefully up at Samantha Wildman and the Captain.

They nodded in unision.

From his pocket he pulled out a fabric patch woven in gold and silver. I think this will look good on your bib, he said gently, pressing it firmly to her chest. It is the regimental honour and you deserve it for looking after a lost soldier.

A laurel! Naomi gasped. 

He held up a silencing finger before saluting her smartly.

Again he fished in a pocket. I didn't get the chance to finish my present, he explained to Seven, pulling out a crumpled paper bag. But as you think them inefficeint, perhaps I can interest others in one of these?

They are? Seven demanded, as Naomi's hand eagerly dived into the bag and withdrew a cream block.

Just some fudge. Boiled sugar and condensed milk, flavoured with just a hint of vanilla. I should think about 10,000 calories per piece. Very pleasant, but frivolous. Obviously no good for your svelt like figure. Captain, Ensign? He explained offering the bag towards the Captain and Sam Wildman, carefully keeping it out of Seven's reach, forcing her to watch it eagle eyed and drooling as they each dipped a hand in the bag to withdraw their own pieces of confection.

He peered in the bag, screwed it up and pushed it deep into his jacket pocket again. All gone, he sighed.

It was too much for Seven. She launched herself at him, her hand seeking the pocket in which he had deposited the bag. She withdrew the bag and found, as he had declared, it was empty.

Looking for this? he asked with a grin, holding out a second bag withdrawn from the other pocket, a good deal fuller than the first.

She grabbed it from his hand and placed a fudge piece in her mouth. The Captain had never seen Seven melt so quickly as she relaxed in the Colonel's arms, not withstanding the way the sweet disolved in the mouth anyhow.

They are pleasant, Seven admitted, taking a second piece.

the Colonel admitted. Revenge is. Pass the bag, please?

Captain Janeway, realising that the Colonel's gentle teasing and slieght of hand, was his revenge for Seven's more hamfisted notice of her pregnancy and was now complete, laughed. I think you are still trailing Seven.

Good Heavens! I don't want to win! The Colonel exclaimed. Simply not get left behind!

Seven, Colonel, Samantha Wildman said quietly. I said some things the other day to Seven. I regret them. Please forgive me? I should have known I was wrong.

I recall no such discussion, Seven declared calmly.

  


  


  


  


  


Revision 27


	4. A Private Little War (New 14/11/01)

**A Private Little War**

  


_Voyager stumbles into a civil war between parallel Universes _

_Voyager and the characters aboard her (except the Colonel and additional characters) in this story are copyright of Paramount. No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead._

_The story line and the Colonel are my own._

_Constructive criticism and comments are welcome on e-mail story@rgower.plus.com _

_If like me you like to know why things occur like they do, I would heartily recommend you start at chapter 1-01 Castaway. _

_This story is rated PG13 _

_©R Gower 2001_

  


It was one of those beautiful evenings, the type that persuade poets to wax lyrically of golden rays of sun lovingly kissing twisted spires with flecks of gold and ruby red as it set behind equally golden fields in its fiery nightcap. Offering peace and tranquility to all and sundry. The environmental controllers had done well tonight.

Those of Destron 4 without anything special to do, accepted the vipers invitation willingly, lazing in the warm after glow. An opportunity to forget their own troubles. Safe in the assurances that the Empire would never find their planet with its Poly-morphic shielding that would defy any attempt of the Empire to find them. Comforted by the news that the Empire had suffered grievous loses and the Federation would soon be victorious in war. A war that had continued since both the Federation and Empire had been founded. 

The rumour that the Empire's own planet was covered by a similar shield, yet had been successfully attacked by their own fleet under High Admiral Maka were not taken seriously. Until the sirens sounded..

For a few minutes there was silence. Some looking nervously looking toward the sky, parents glanced around for their off-spring, others simply ignored it as another drill.

The sirens continued. A few started to drift towards the shelters, as a thin whistle started to catch more sensitive ears.

The shielded sky above flashed and faded letting in the real dark. More ominously six dark shadows also appeared. They rapidly took on a more solid box form as they plummeted lower.

Then the screaming started, the slow orderly drift changing instantly into a panicked rush for the safety of the cavernous, but rat infested, shelters. A few hardier souls stopped to demand the where-abouts of the planetary defences. But there were none. Unbeknown to the populace Destron had put its faith into its last attack. The remains of its fleet were still returning from a very similar raid on the Empire.

If there were screams whilst the bombs fell nobody knew. They were masked by the roar of the enemies ships screaming overhead, detonations as mighty warheads met their targets and roars when they found vital ones.

There were few screams sixty seconds later, when their task done, the enemy departed. It was the time for tears as those that had found safety crept back into the open again to view the ruined remains and look for the remains of their loved ones.

  


Admiral Takart viewed the results of his raid with no satisfaction. The two sides were even again, no more no less, just as they had always been.

The war between the Empire and Federation had become a long one of attrition, with long successions of stand-offs as scientists struggled to find the perfect weapon to crush their enemy and the strategists planned how to use them. The latest idea had been to penetrate the poly-morphic shields that protected Destron 4. 

The irony of the fact that Federation had used exactly the same tactics, on exactly the same shield technology, thirty hours earlier was not lost upon him. Only the fact that a random event had caused an engine failure aboard one of his ships had prevented the attacks occurring almost simultaneously. The truth was that everything the Empire did was mirrored by the Federation almost exactly. He yearned for a random event that would make a difference.

  


You know, I've heard a strange rumour that there is a ghost in here? The Captain commented with a cheerful grin and sauntering to a halt in Astrometrics.

Ghost. A spectral apparition of a spiritual nature, Seven of Nine defined calmly, turning to face her. Such things do not exist.

That is what I thought, the Captain agreed. But they say it looks like Seven of Nine. But it can't be her because she would prefer to spend off-duty time with somebody else. What would you call it?

I believe there to be a conspiracy between both the Doctor and Colonel to reduce my efficiency, Seven of Nine explained frankly.

They have suggested I should rest and take up a hobby during my off-duty periods, Seven declared. 

Sounds like a good idea, the Captain admitted. Have you?

I have made it my hobby to enhance the Astrometrics system, Seven agreed, turning back to her console and started clicking her way through the huge array of sensor suites at her disposal.

I don't think that is what they had in mind, the Captain suggested, suppressing the desire for laughter.

Perhaps. However I am in constant communication with the Colonel, his physical presence is therefore not essential for my well being, Seven admitted. And my 'hobby' has permitted the detection of a previously undetected anomaly.

You've located a lot of anomalies, the Captain observed with a grin, moving closer to inspect the readings Seven of Nine was taking. It's one of your many useful abilities. Why should this one be of such interest to order me down to Astrometrics?

Only the new Polyphonic detection grid detected it. It is of a Poly-morphic nature. It twists and bends our detection systems, preventing normal sensor readings. I cannot ascertain the nature of the fields generator above the fact that it appears to fluctuate naturally, I believe it may be shielding a planet, Seven explained.

Is the planet populated?

I do not know. I cannot detect bio-signatures through the shielding, Seven admitted. 

I managed to penetrate the shield to complete geographical surveys. Many of the geographical features suggest the possibility of Dilithium. The planet is significantly closer than the one previously identified, she added quickly.

And you would like to go and have a look for the exact causes, especially as it could be your last chance for a while? The Captain offered with a wry grin, reading the almost pleading look in the ex-Borgs eyes as she looked back at her.

After four months Seven was very obviously pregnant and she was already finding limitations as to what she could do both on and off duty.

It is quite a way off of our course, for something we don't know is there and desperately needed, the Captain pondered as she finally saw the planets location.

The feature is of interest, Seven argued hopefully. Investigation will permit modification to the sensor suites to permit the detection of similar anomalies. With the possibility of gaining Dilithium at an earlier point than previously estimated.

Alright, you can take a shuttle and investigate, The Captain laughed. Provided the Doctor agrees you are upto it. I assume you will need the Valoria, so the Colonel will go as pilot.

Lieutenant Tom Paris can pilot the Valoria. I do not need the Colonel's assistance, Seven intercepted.

I know he can, the Captain agreed. But you are forgetting several things trying to be independent from the Colonel. The first is that I will put the Colonel on any away mission if there is the possibility of danger involved. As the Ferrengi would say, 'It's as good as Latinum in the bank'. The other is that I couldn't actually stop him from going. He's not crew and even if he were, he would find a way and challenge me to put him in the Brig afterwards. Besides, I think he has got the hang of the limitations you put on his care'. Hasn't he?

He has attempted to exceed the limitations twice, Seven declared, hurrying for the door. He apologised when I made made the excess clear.

The Captain grinned at Seven's eagerness and slipped a sweet from the bag she had left on the top of the console. If pregnancy was inconvenient for Seven, it was proving almost impossible for the Colonel.

  


The Doctor was more cautious about an Away Mission with Seven of Nine involved.

Are you sure you need to go? He quizzed. It could be dangerous and you will not be able to regenerate properly. As a mother to be' you need your beauty sleep!

It is not possible to gain sufficient data from Voyager, Seven disputed. Nor will it be dangerous. The Captain has demanded that the Colonel will accompany me.

The Doctor grunted. The Colonel would undoubtedly take care of physical protection, but he was more worried about the health implications. 

Have you had any problems?

Mild discomfort in my lower spine and pressure in my intestinal tracts, Seven admitted. They do not interfere with my operation.

"You should consider replicating these," the Doctor offered, indicating the computer terminal. "They are a range of maternity wear I have designed for you. They have been designed to provide support and expansion room whilst still maintaining a fashionable aspect."

"Fashion is irrelevant," Seven declared stonily viewing the Doctors creations on the screen.

"Perhaps you should discuss them with your husband?" the Doctor offered, proffering a handful of PADD's.

Very well, the Doctor agreed after a few moments thought. I think I can accept four days. But I want you to ensure that you regenerate for at least ten hours per day. Your portable unit is not as effective as the alcove in Cargo Bay 2.

"Acceptable," Seven confirmed quickly, snatching up the PADD's and heading for the door before he could think of something else.

  


"Why don't you grow up!" An exasperated and clearly furious B'Elanna Paris screamed at Tom.

Others in the Mess for lunch simultaneously looked up and ducked at the explosion. Arguments between the two lieutenants were not in themselves unusual. But this one seemed to have real fury in it. Confirmed when B'Elanna threw not just her plate of Neelix's Table-d-Hote at him, but his as well, then stormed from the Mess.

From a corner table the Colonel sighed, it was another symptom of the low state of readiness aboard the ship, he decided. He returned to his conversation with Chakotay.

"I'm sorry, Sir. You were saying about Ensign Abbott?"

"I don't want her hurt," Chakotay stated plainly. 

Didn't say stand in the street and bellow, 'Get a life you silly cow', the Colonel suggested. Just get her involved with somebody her age.

"She does not seem to be interested in joining the rest of the crew."

"Perhaps she's using you as a crutch?" the Colonel offered shrewdly. "She has to learn to continue on her own two feet sooner or later. Sooner would be better. What about you?

"It's been good to be the focus of attention," Chakotay admitted guardedly.

"But not what you really want?"

Chakotay shook his head. "No. But I'm not sure that I will ever have that either. She barely talks to me, except for orders and appearances. I'm not even invited to dinner anymore. I've told her there is no truth in the rumours.

There is always truth in rumour, the Colonel opined. It's a fool that ignores them. A rumour the size of the one that is floating around here, has to have more than a grain of truth in it."

The Colonel grunted as his communicator beeped. "Whether it is or not. It is about time you made a decision about where your loyalties lie. Remember your decisions affect the ship as much as the Captains," he stated quietly standing up.

  


"All ready for the 'Magical Mystery Tour'? Please show your tickets to the conductor on boarding," The Colonel quipped, greeting Seven of Nine and B'Elanna Paris as he appeared with his pack in the shuttle bay an hour later.

He was greeted by a scowl from B'Elanna, which made him wonder if the Captain had heard of her earlier exchange, and the expected chastising eyebrow from Seven of Nine for flippancy.

Keeping his happy demeanour, he took his station for pre-flight checks and wondered how stormy the trip was going to be. He could cope with both, provided it was one at a time, but B'Elanna and Seven fighting between themselves would make life difficult.

  


Captain Janeway watched the shuttle wink out of sight with a wistful sigh and a little jealousy. The anomally Seven had found did require investigating, but the need for Dilithium was becoming acute, as was her crew concerns.

"Put us back on course. Warp 3," she commanded brusquely, turning back to immediate problems. I'll go over the infraction reports in my Ready Room now, Commander.

  


"Would it be rude to ask if you meant that public little display earlier?" The Colonel asked some hours later to break the silence. Seven of Nine had decided to use the flight to regenerate as the Doctor had demanded, it left him free to take up the subject.

"Yes! B'Elanna snapped, before recovering a little of her temper. "Why do you always let Seven get away with the things she does to you?"

The Colonel smiled. "You would be surprised at what I would let friends get away with. In Mrs Nines case, I love her dearly and she makes up for them later, so I can forgive her little foibles. I think she thinks I need to be taken care of. Besides, we keep our disagreements private and in the end she would never prevent me doing what I need to do."

"I wish Tom would be more like that," B'Elanna confessed. "You know what he did?"

The Colonel shook his head and offered a bag from the top of Seven of Nine's Console to her.

"He's written another of those juvenile bar holo-programmes," B'Elanna said accepting a sweet from the bag.

"Very romantic places, bars," the Colonel observed 

"He spends most of his spare time writing them," B'Elanna protested. "Then gets me to go with him, along with Harry and whoever he is trying that day. Today he announced the fifth one in two weeks!"

"Everybody needs a hobby, the Colonel suggested. Perhaps you aren't giving him enough to think about?" 

"I'm trying," B'Elanna pleaded. "But what I want him to think about can't be done in a bar!"

"I don't think I'll ask what that is," the Colonel guffawed quickly, with a hint of a blush tingeing his ears. "Just suggest that you meet him halfway. Write your own programme to get him thinking the way you want. If you need help, I'm sure Mrs Nine and Corporal Miller will help. Surprisingly, they are both romantic at heart. Now, rather than waking Mrs Nine and risking the wrath of the Doctor, would you care to tell me what that flashing alarm means?" He indicated at a blinking light on Seven's station.

"I think it's a cloaked ship," B'Elanna warned after a few moments examination. "I'm waking Seven. There are modifications in here that I don't know about."

"Six heavily cloaked vessels," Seven reported impassively a few minutes later. "They show no signs of having detected Valoria, or are ignoring us. They are enroute to intercept Voyager. Interception in 3 hours."

"Friendly?" The Colonel asked hopefully.

"Unknown."

"Burst a signal to Voyager," he demanded hauling the shuttle around. "Give me a course for home."

"You believe they are a danger?" Seven of Nine suggested. "We will be two hours too late to be of assistance. Nor were we attacked."

"Yes, I think they are in danger and we weren't attacked because we aren't a danger," the Colonel declared heavily. "We are merely a long range scout craft. Besides they came from the direction we are going. It suggests our destination is not as benign as it looked."

  


Voyager shook violently as it was struck by a torpedo without warning.

"Shields coming up."

"Weapons on-line."

"Damage reported deck 9, two injured. Damage control is operational."

"Executing avoidance pattern Epsilon."

"Scanning for hostile."

Around him the Dog Watch with barely a pause for breath launched into action with its customary lack of commands made. It allowed Winston to be almost relaxed in his "Captain to the Bridge!"

Voyager shook again. "Hit on rear starboard quarter," Ensign Kala reported. "Shields 70%."

"Avoidance pattern Delta Foxtrot," Ensign Hubbard announced.

"Still can't detect the hostiles, Sir!" Ensign Moraith reported from tactical. Winston cursed. wishing fervently that his new watch was as efficient as the original. 

"Hard to Starboard pitch us low," he demanded, Hubbard in particular seemed to be too well trained in StarFleet doctrines.

"Sir?"

"I said hard to Starboard, Ensign," Winston demanded, launching himself at the pilots console and stabbing pads. "We've got to give the starboard shields time to regenerate!"

The Captain tumbled from the lift in time to see Winston push the crewman from his seat and take his place and the ship shake again.

"Report!" She demanded standing at the balcony, bracing herself against the next impact.

"Under attack by unidentified vessels. I can't shake them off or find them!" Winston shouted back.

Carver take tactical, Tom take Conn, Winston help Kala and Kim with ops. Modulate the shields and find what is attacking! Return fire as soon as we have a target, the Captain snapped as her crew tumbled in turn onto the Bridge. 

And tell Valoria we are under attack, she added as she finally took her seat and trying to take stock. 

Torpedo! Roll starboard, Carver called picking up the weapon on his screen. 

He fired a phasor in the direction that the torpedo appeared from. Carver cursed. 

Trying a tacion pulse. I could use some help, Ma'am? Kala pleaded from ops.

Winston, I said assist Kala, the Captain stormed seeing Winston still at Conn, Tom Paris behind him. Release Conn to Lieutenant Paris.

Got one. Firing, Carver announced as the effects of Kala's efforts showed on his screen, targeting his weapons as fast as Voyager would allow.

Got him! He announced with satisfaction as a strange vessel appeared on the view screen and slowly span away before disappearing again. 

No effect, Winston reported bursting any jubilation and finally taking the station assigned. Their shields simply absorbed the torpedo.

Again Voyager rocked and Tom Paris's console exploded in sparks.

We've lost shields, Kim reported.

Weapons down!

Lost impulse! Tom reported.

Borders reported Cargo Bay 1, Engineering and Deck 4. Security can't hold them, Chakotay provided the last of the bad news.

Four figures materialised on the Bridge and span to threaten the crew.

A glance around at the others was all the confirmation the Captain needed, Voyager was lost. I am Captain Kathryn Janeway, commander of the Federation ship Voyager. I will surrender if you will spare my crew?

You are not in the position to make demands. We have your ship, the leader of the small group of invaders announced. You have violated territory of the Destron Empire. Your vessel will perform duties for us. You and your crew will be incarcerated as prisoners before interrogation and execution. If they declare themselves loyal to the Emperor then we may be so kind as to find a role for them in the war.

What war? The Captain snapped. We aren't involved in any war. Until you attacked we were unaware there was a claim for this area!

We have been at war with the Federation for four centuries. You have admitted to being members of the Federation, you are enemies of the state.

I don't know anything about what you are on about! The Captain pleaded. Our Federation is 30,000 light years away. We are travellers. Does this ship look like anything your enemies use?

Their generation facilities were destroyed in our last attack. Perhaps they have had to use primitive designs and mercenaries. Guards take them away. I will interrogate them later.

Speechless the Captain and her crew were led away.

  


I am unable to contact Voyager. My signals are being jammed, Seven of Nine observed impassively. I have detected energy discharges it suggests they are under attack.

It's not the ones that overtook us either, is it? The Colonel challenged looking back from his seat.

Seven shook her head. The time elapsed is not sufficient.

Before we charge in can you tell us more?

We are not close enough to detect the nature of the weapons, Seven explained. I do not believe them to have originated from Voyager.

The discharges have ceased, Seven announced a few minutes later. I am detecting two vessels in close proximity. The design is unfamiliar.

Voyager has been captured, the Colonel sighed. Then struck the consol with his fist and uttering a single vicious expletive.

Can you keep a track of what is happening at this range? He asked after a moments thought.

Automatically the Colonel shut down the Valorias engines and settled back in his chair. Just tell me when they move.

But we've got to do something! B'Elanna snapped.

We are, the Colonel assured her. We are going to try and avoid being captured. If they over-ran Voyager in a few minutes with two ships, there's not a lot of point us barging in. We'll wait and see what happens when the other chaps catch them.

And if they destroy Voyager? B'Elanna challenged.

We look for somewhere comfortable to stay while we thumb a lift.

But the Captain and Tom are on Voyager. You always say you will protect Voyager with your life! Is that just a boast? B'Elanna screamed in anger leaping to her feet in the small cockpit. Perhaps you are a coward. After all the only person you care for is with you!

This time when the Colonel turned to answer there was anger on his face. Mrs Paris, he said, his voice dangerously quiet. I was ordered to defend Voyager and her crew by my own commander. I will do so, giving my life for it just as readily as I would for Mrs Nine, if necessary. But I won't waste it. If Captain Janeway and the crew are not already dead, then they will be just as alive in a one, two or three days time. By then those bastards will have relaxed and will be busy toasting each other. Then this little cockleshell might have a chance of getting in unmolested. What happens then is in Gods hands, not mine, but I promise a bloody trail a mile wide. Until then we wait. If you try to do something without my say so, then you will be on the top of my list of prospective casualties.

You wouldn't dare! B'Elanna hissed, challenging the implied threat.

Before she could respond further, she found herself thrust back into her seat, the Colonel towering over her and his knife pressing gently at her throat. Don't try me, he growled in a whisper. 

You wouldn't be the first. And before you ask. Yes, I would, as I would with anybody that tried to dispute my orders, he added stepping back from the shocked engineer, slipping the blade back from where it had appeared. You are a brilliant engineer and I know you can fight, but you haven't a chance. Not until Voyager and crew are safe. You can do anything you like to me then.

They glared at each other for a moment. B'Elanna trying to make sense of his comment.

This discussion is irrelevant, Seven of Nine interrupted the burgeoning argument. The vessels we originally detected are returning. We are about to be intercepted.

Have they found us, or can we slip away? The Colonel demanded snapping back to the more immediate problem.

Affirmative. Nor will we be able to out run them, Seven observed still impassive.

Can we target them? B'Elanna demanded activating the weapons consol.

But could we take out all six? The Colonel asked quietly. I think not. Turn the weapons off please, Lieutenant. We can only do so much with this ship.

Irritably B'Elanna Paris slapped the consol shut again and waited breathlessly as Seven supplied a running commentary of the hidden ships progress, until one appeared silently above them. From there commentary was not required. They could see the light above them as they were tractored into the hold.

I think we avoid unpleasantries for the time being, the Colonel observed as a sizeable body of armed and armoured humanoids gathered around the shuttle and stood ready as they waited for them to exit. At least until we know whether they are as professional as they look.

Quietly he gathered Seven of Nine's portable regenerator and slung it up onto his back. Ladies, after you, he said nodding towards the door.

Which of you is in command? A voice rang out as they stepped off the Valoria.

I am. Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels of Her Majesties Sixtieth Rifles, the Colonel responded immediately.

Take him for interrogation, the voice commanded. You are prisoners of the Destron Federation, suspected of being in league with the Empire.

Four guards stepped forward and tried to pull the pack from the Colonel's back.

Hold Hard! He snapped. My wife needs it for her health. I wish to be interned with my crew.

If found guilty, your health is immaterial, a voice told him. We will decide if the contents of the pack are required. With that it was ripped from his back.

Automatically the Colonel span and lashed out at the figure that had pulled it away. His fist striking home into its throat forcing it to drop the pack and cough violently. Instantaneously he was set upon by eight guards. He threw two off before being overpowered and pushed to the ground. There he was roughly manacled before being dragged away unconscious.

I thought he said no rough stuff? B'Elanna commented under her breath to Seven of Nine as they were led away.

He did, Seven responded evenly. Their actions prompted an automatic response.

  


How many of us are there? Captain Janeway demanded as she was ushered into the Mess.

Pretty well all the crew, Captain, Neelix said quietly. I think there are still some in Sickbay. But I don't know if the Doctor is able to treat them.

The Captain nodded her satisfaction with the report and gave her instructions. Kim and Kala, see if you can find out what they are doing aboard the ship. You three, keep a watch on the door. Then she sank into a chair.

I've got Corporal Miller, Captain! Kim exclaimed after a few minutes work at the Mess terminal. I think he's been trying to contact us!

Permission to speak, M'm? A quiet cockney voice sounded.

She hissed in surprise. You are part of the ship, the Destrons have control.

I ain't the ship. My orders were to accept your orders, M'm. One of the crew like? Miller responded. Please, M'm. I need instructions as well, M'm. There are a couple of very determined geezers trying to get into the core. They are good, they've got through three of my encryption walls already. Do you want me to continue to resist?

How long can you hold them? She asked quickly.

he admitted. But I could fry the whole system if you want?

If you do that then they might as well destroy the ship, Chakotay observed from beside her having heard the conversation.

I agree. Do you know what they are doing? The Captain asked.

We are moving, M'm, Miller reported. Some sort of tractor beam, but I can't detect what's pulling us, or the course. As for the blokes aboard, they are stripping equipment like a bunch of bleedin' gipsies.

Can you give the impression of serious damage to the Destrons from their breaking in? Chakotay asked, thinking hard.

Ain't gonna hold em long, Sir.

But it'll give us time, the Captain accepted. Let them see our flight logs, it might help them understand where we've been. In the mean time we need to know how many there are and where. Can you do that?

Three in the corridor, four on the Bridge, two in the Central Computer Core and sixty doing mischief, M'm. All are heavily armed. I don't think you're bloody minded enough to rush them without serious casualties, Ma'am, Corporal Miller cautioned.

  


On Voyagers Bridge, Admiral Takart, commander of the Destron Fleet and the Destron Captain Janeway had offered her ship to, scratched his white hair in puzzlement.

The female, Captain Janeway, was certainly right about the ship not belonging to his enemies. The technology was totally different. A strange mix of advanced technology, like the astrometrics suite, and primitive, like the weapons and energy shielding. Even the Federation would have upgraded the weapons before sending mercenaries to fight. Unless they really thought they could approach Destron III by pretending to be explorers.

Then there was the computer system, that seemed to be actively fighting his own computer specialists. Throwing up complicated mazes of security, then as they were breached the data held within disappeared.

It could also prove to be the random event he had prayed for.

In the end he sighed. Bring the female known as Captain Kathryn Janeway, he demanded.

He met her in her own Ready Room and sitting behind her own desk.

Sit down, Captain Kathryn Janeway, he demanded.

The Captain was not given an opportunity to resist. She was simply pushed into a chair by the guard that had brought her.

It was particularly stupid of the Federation to send such a primitive ship, he started. Then held up his hand to stop the Captains protest. So stupid that your claims could almost be true, he continued. But my analysts have been going over your computer logs. What they can recover. Your records are also too fantastic to be true. So I am given to wondering what is the real truth, Captain Kathryn Janeway?

My computer records, the Captain declared instantly. We've been in the Delta Quadrant for years, after having been brought here by a being we know as the Caretaker.

I could use other means of extracting the truth, Takart observed. He placed a device like a hypospray on the desk, making sure the Captain had a good view of it. This one for instance will break your synapses, causing excruciating pain. But you will tell me the truth.

I am telling the truth! The Captain screamed leaping to her feet and ignoring the guard hovering behind her. Why not believe me?

Well your computer is being problematic, Takart observed. It could simply be supplying false information? I warn you, you are being interrogated for your crews lives. If I decide you are lying they will die when your ship is destroyed.

What are you going to do with my ship? She demanded in alarm.

It will end the war between the Federation and the Empire, Takart said calmly. If I am happy you are what you claim you may live as citizens of the Empire.

The computer has been programmed to only accept my orders. It resists because you haven't given me the opportunity to tell it otherwise, the Captain hissed, silently cursing both Miller and the Colonel. I'll tell you about our whole journey if it will help?

Perhaps, and I have plenty of time for stories. But I warn you, what you say will be matched with the computers records, Takart agreed indicating for her to continue.

  


I do not know if I am able believe your story, Captain Janeway, Takart said quietly after she had been speaking for two hours. It is my belief that your vessel is incapable of travelling so far. However I am tempted to concede you go are not necessarily in the employ of the Federation.

I will consider your statements and decide your fate when we reach Destron, Takart said in dismissal.

  


The Colonel stirred slowly to find himself strapped arms and feet to a chair. He tested the bonds gently. They seemed firm enough, though the plastic chair creaked. With nowhere to go there seemed little point in trying hard.

From there he glanced around taking in the surrounds. It was a simple metal walled cell, devoid of additional furniture or shadows. A single light shone down from above his head.

Satisfied that there was no immediate and nasty surprises, he settled to await events.

He did not have long to wait before a white haired figure entered.

Good day! The Colonel greeted him cordially. Are you the gaoler?

I am High Admiral Maka. I am here to listen to your confession, the stranger declared.

Odd, you don't look like a priest, the Colonel observed. The black coat is good, but without the beads and cross it doesn't work.

Behind the stranger a second white haired figure entered carrying a chair. This he placed a short distance in front of the Colonel and departed again.

The stranger enquired sitting in the vacant chair. What is a priest?

A gentleman that entreats me to confess my sins to the Lord and promises a safe passage to Hell if I don't, the Colonel admitted. I tend not to take them seriously. I know the Devil doesn't want me either.

I do not know what they are either, the stranger admitted openly. 

Another of those terribly advanced races that only want to believe in convenience, the Colonel moaned, studying Maka as he sat in front of him. The white hair looked as though it were cut to the pattern of a quart pudding basin. Elongated ears running from the base of the skull to near the top of the crown made a pink slash through an otherwise immaculate hairstyle. Whilst the pink eye's were wide and lacked a distinct pupil.

I do know what you are attempting to do. You are attempting to control your own interrogation, Maka challenged.

Now how can I do that? The Colonel asked in open eyed innocence. As far as I can see I'm the only one here bound to a chair. You can at least walk off when you get bored.

Well Mr Maker, he continued smoothly.

Maka interrupted with the correction.

So sorry. I swear you said Maker, the Colonel apologised. As I was saying. I confess a certain level of sorrow about the chap who ripped my pack off me. I promised my wife I was going to control my reactions. But he was awfully rude. I trust he is not too seriously injured?

He was not seriously injured, Maka accepted.

Good. She must be getting to me, the Colonel grinned. Now what else would you like me to confess too?

That you are a spy, Maka declared, fighting to take the initative.

Good. So I am a spy, the Colonel admitted. Now we are getting somewhere. Now who for? I can hardly admit to being a spy unless I know who for?

The Destron Empire, Maka answered quickly. 

Okay. I am a spy for the Destron Empire. Would you care to tell me what sort of spy I am?

Maka looked at him in confusion.

Well I can hardly be a simple spy. Spies always have a motive, the Colonel explained, Sabotage, intelligence, miss-information, counter-espionage. Which would you like me to be?

You are intending to carry out sabotage, Maka declared hopefully.

So I turn up in a vessel with two others, looking nothing like you or yours and allow you to arrest us for being hell bent on blowing something up. Hardly a good story is it? The Colonel suggested mildly. Especially as our mother ship was attacked by what I assume was the other lot. What was it you called them? The Destron Empire? I dare say my boss is having a very similar conversation with them?

Perhaps if you told me what I was supposed to be fighting for, we can come up with a good story? He offered kindly.

You are not a spy, are you? Maka finally accepted standing up.

Good heavens No! The Colonel agreed. I'm a soldier. I've no time for mind games and skull-duggery. But you wanted me to be. So until now whatever I said you wouldn't believe.

Maka silently left the room then sagged against the wall as the door closed behind him. 

Prisoners were supposed to be intimidated by the presence of an interogator. It made the task of obtaining the truth that much easier. A kind word of promise here, a threat there, even a little physical and mental abuse. They were all designed to obtaining the required truth. For eight cycles it had worked for him. He had met a few that had attempted to brazen out the interrogation. But there had never been one that had simply turned the tables. He was going to need help. Though he suspected that he already knew the truth. Perhaps one of the females would be easier to deal with.

With an effort he pulled himself together and turned to the waiting guards. You may place him with the other two until we reach Destron 4.

  


Four days after her first meeting with Takart, Captain Janeway was marched back to the Ready Room. Again Takart was sat in her chair and she was forced to take the chair facing him.

I am prepared to offer you and your crew asylum on Destron, Captain, he smiled encouragingly at her.

We don't want asylum! Captain Janeway drawled. Just let us go on our way. All we want to do is go home!

That will not be possible, Captain, Takart snapped. Whilst I have no desire to destroy your crew, the arrival of your ship in our space is the random event that we have been waiting for for four hundred of your years. It will end our war with the Federation.

The Captain demanded angrily.

As way of explanation Trakart activated the desktop view screen. It panned through the blackened and ruined buildings of the capital.

We have been at war with the Federation ever since we colonised the planet, he explained. Their planet, like ours, was protected by an advanced poly-morphic shield that hid it and a naval battle fleet. Two months ago we discovered how to penetrate their planetary shield. So did the Federation. They attacked Destron III, 30 hours before we attacked their planet, the results you can see for yourself, along with nearly 4,000 casualties.

I'm sorry, the Captain sympathised. But what has it got to do with my ship?

Don't you see, Captain! Trakart exclaimed. We have been uniquely matched. Every advance we make in our technologies is matched by one of theirs. We invented robot warriors and the next time we fought we were met by an equal number of robot warriors. We increase our manufacturing capacity and theirs has matched. We lose a ship, so do they. It is like fighting your own reflection. Your ship has been the first time we have had a positive advantage. Something the Federation hasn't got! I intend to use it!

The Captain demanded again.

We have stripped and disabled your ships controls, including your interfering computer, Trakart said. Some of the technology will be of assistance to us in rebuilding. But we have also loaded a Trilithium device. Your ship will be guided onto a path to intercept their sun. When it explodes, it will induce solar flares so large that they will engulf the Federations home world.

For a moment the Captain sat in stunned horror at the declaration. Total genicide, she whispered. Why not simply ask for peace. They must be as sick of your war as you are?

They will not accept, Takart said simply. There can be only one victor.

How do you know? she snapped.

Because I wouldn't accept.

And you think I will allow you to destroy a race, in favour of living on your planet?

You have no real choice, Takart said. Your crew will be able to live out their natural lives.

You're right, she declared heavily. There is no choice. I will not be a party to this. I will find a way to stop you!

Pity. Your help would have been invaluable, Takart sighed. Take her away. Place her with her crew in Cargo Bay 2 and seal it.

The Captain had a full five minutes to view her new cell before the rest of the crew were escorted into the hold. It took her nearly all of them to take in the state of Seven's alcove. It had been partially dismantled and or smashed as the Destrons had tried to understand its function. The parts were now distributed over the floor, they crunched under foot as she walked around it. Absentmindedly she got on her knees to pick up some of the more delicate parts.

Kathryn. What is happening, Chakotay demanded as the heavy door closed behind them.

She gave him a weak smile. They gave me an option I could refuse, she said. They intend to use Voyager as a guided bomb to destroy the Federation. They said we could watch. The choice was from where. There is a lot of things I can accept, but not genicide.

I think you had better explain, Chakotay demanded calmly, pulling her to a corner.

I think it would have been nice to have had a choice, Chakotay said when she had finished. But my answer would have been the same. What do we do?

I don't know yet, she admitted thoughtfully. But they don't seem to know about the Valoria, so perhaps the Colonel may be able to get involved. I can't see him letting himself be caught Not that Seven will have much of a home to come to, she indicated the dilapidated alcove. 

Get Caerey to start repairing it, she decided. Some others on getting to the computer. This is our ship and we aren't letting it go. We might not be able to take them on directly in a fight, but there are other ways. 

The Colonel once broke in to this hold, when you confined Seven to quarters and he didn't trigger an alarm, Chakotay offered. Perhaps we can find how he did it?

Do it!

  


B'Elanna surveyed their quarters on Destron in distress. Although all around appeared to have been devastated, the cell complex was most definitely intact, right to the windowless room she was forced to share with the others and two very secure gates. There was less chance of escaping this cell than with the Valoria against the enemy fleet. 

It was infuriating her nearly as much as the Colonel's seeming acceptance of the situation, and the way he happily followed Maka and his men to interrogation. Apart from his obvious annoyance at the Destrons not returning Seven's regenerator after the second day (when she had thought he would have gone 'Ballistic'), he had barely grunted a disapproval. Against anybody else she was sure the bodies would be piling up.

But even that paled into insignificance compared to the hurt from his threat before they were captured. Why wouldn't he fight his way out? He could have done it. We've seen it! She demanded turning on Seven of Nine as she sank quietly onto one of the small cots.

He believes we will have a better chance of success later. Perhaps one of surviving and rescuing Voyager, Seven of Nine suggested evenly.

For a moment B'Elanna glared at her, then saw Seven sway. Seven, are you okay? She asked in surprise.

My regeneration is overdue, Seven of Nine excused. I am experiencing dizziness. It will pass.

Lay down, B'Elanna demanded rushing up to support the blonde in sudden concern as she teetered. It'll help. Gently she swung Seven of Nine back on to the cot.

The Colonel's comment on the Valoria, Seven whispered as her eye's closed. 

What comment?

He was referring to me.

He wouldn't! He couldn't! B'Elanna gasped in horrified realisation as the memory of the Colonel with his knife pressed at her throat returned.

I would be interfering with the efficient prosecution of his duty. He is attempting to maintain my instructions.

What instructions? B'Elanna demanded urgently, but Seven had passed into deep sleep from which she would not awaken.

For a minute or two B'Elanna watched as Seven slipped into unconscious sleep. Seven had become ever quieter over the four days since their capture as her pregnancy took its toll, not so much on her natural resources, which would recover with rest, but more seriously upon her overladen Borg systems. They needed regular assistance from the portable regenerator just to be maintained, it was doubtful if it would be able to repair them now.

How am I going to explain this to him?' she wondered in exasperation. Seven of Nine had been carefully avoiding admitting her increasingly precarious state to the Colonel since the last time she was permitted to use it. 

There was also Seven's comment, that she believed the Colonel would be prepared to kill her if she disputed his commands. B'Elanna did not believe it for a moment. She could not. It was impossible.

B'Elanna, took a last glance at the slumbering blonde on the bed before rising as the sound of the Colonel returning from yet another interrogation reached her.

What do we do now and what instructions did you give her? She demanded after the Colonel had been pushed inside the cell.

We wait for an opportunity. What instructions do you think she gave? he asked calmly, pushing past her to examine Seven of Nine. I suppose you are going to tell me she was tired? He asked looking up.

She was feeling dizzy. I told her to lay down, B'Elanna claimed. She fell to sleep herself. What instructions did she give you?

In that case thank you, Lieutenant. For not lying to me, he said quietly after a quick check of his watch. She is overdue regeneration and can't be as cavalier about it now. As for my instructions. I think the one she was referring to was 'Avoid getting hurt'. That went by the board when we saw these chaps. Now we're working to my rules. We get hurt when it will do some good, or there is no choice. 

I think we are getting dangerously close, he added quietly.

He removed his jacket and gently spread it over the sleeping woman. Automatically Seven curled up under her new cover and he stepped away, pulling B'Elanna into the far corner.

Would you kill Seven. If she refused your order? B'Elanna demanded quickly.

The Colonel shrugged. You really don't want to know, he said quietly.

Could you? B'Elanna demanded again.

If it put others in danger. Then, Yes I would, the Colonel snapped savagely. But there would be two bodies for the Doctors slab at the end. Does that satisfy you, Lieutenant?

Stunned, B'Elanna could only gape at him open mouthed.

Have you heard of a Trilithium Bomb? He asked more quietly.

B'Elanna nodded. They are outlawed in the Alpha Quadrant, she said quickly. Extremely powerful, capable of destroying planets, but unstable.

If these stupid buggers put one on Valoria, could she fly close enough to a sun to do serious damage?

And get away. No! B'Elanna stated immediately.

I don't think they mean her to escape as well.

How big is it? B'Elanna demanded.

Said something along the lines of half-million mega-tonnes. It sounds like a big bang, the Colonel admitted. They intend to fly the Valoria close to the sun at the centre of the Empire and explode it. They seem fairly confident it will end their little war.

B'Elanna whistled. It's big, but it wouldn't destroy a star, she admitted.

They will be disappointed, the Colonel grinned, relaxing a little.

But it would destroy every planet in a billion kilometres from the flares it would cause, B'Elanna continued, causing him to start.

I was afraid it would be something like that, he sighed.

Look, I don't know how long we're going to have, he whispered urgently. As you know, I've been rather making a fool of the interrogator chaps. I told them I'm a spy and they didn't believe me. Now they've offered asylum while they carry out their little project. I told them I wanted your opinions first. So they'll be back for an answer in a minute or two. I was hoping to do a 'Captain Janeway' on them and talk them into just letting us go. Nothing unpleasant and everybody happy like. But it's gone too far for that and it looks as though they may have the last laugh. So it's time for you to say goodbye to our hosts.

You will have to do the best you can. If you can think you can take Mrs Nine then do so. But I don't think she will be a lot of help unless she gets a chance to regenerate and they won't give the portable back. There is a phial of my nanoprobes in my jacket. If you dip her assimilation thingies in it they'll hoover them up. They start to work almost immediately in the lab so they may give her a little boost for a while.

We aren't leaving you here! B'Elanna protested quickly to be silenced again by the Colonel.

We've had this argument before, Lieutenant. You will do your duty. I will do mine and keep them interested in me. It will give you and Mrs Nine an opportunity to escape to Valoria. She is about 600 metres away to the West, I saw her when I went for my last interrogation. You must find Voyager and stop her at all costs. Maka seems certain she has been loaded in similar fashion. His fleet is underway to stop her, but unless I've missed my guess the Empire will be underway to stop them. If you fail then we've lost our transport and our crewmates. Now if you would be so good as to deal with the probes?

Reluctantly B'Elanna turned to deal with the Colonel's orders, retrieving the phial as specified and manually dipping Seven of Nines leads into it. They worked as quickly as the Colonel had prophesied. Seven's eyes fluttered open within a few minutes.

My systems are performing at less than 60%, Seven of Nine warned groggily. I require extended regeneration.

B'Elanna whispered quickly to stop her springing up. Just relax and see if you can recover a little more. We aren't needed yet!

They waited a full thirty minutes for Maka to arrive for his answer.

You have come to an agreement? Maka asked mildly standing at the door.

Oh, Yes, the Colonel agreed amiably, waiting at the door. There are a few things I'd like to discuss though?

With a nod of command from Maka the security guard obligingly swung the door open and the Colonel stepped past. Then he closed it again.

You didn't ask what we agreed, the Colonel suggested reproachfully as he was escorted through the outer gate to the cells.

You have agreed to the logical solution of remaining alive, Maka stated curiously.

Well yes, there is that. I take that as read, the Colonel admitted. But what we actually discussed and agreed is that you and your race are as mad as coots.

Instantly he span and drove his fist into the throat of the security guard. In natural reaction the guard bent forward as he choked, to be caught by the Colonel and driven head first into the wall. Next he was spinning looking for the next target. There was none, Maka was already running in terror. The Colonel stooped, snapped up the guards weapon and fired after him. 

There was a blue flash that momentarily blinded him. By the time he had recovered Maka had disappeared. The Colonel sighed and threw the weapon down in disgust, before rifling the fallen guard for the keys to let his friends out.

Bloody stupid weapons, he complained as he let B'Elanna free and bent to help Seven to her feet. Damned thing hang-fired on me.

This it? B'Elanna asked mildly, picking up the discarded weapon to examine. 

A small sensor on the handle caught her expert eye. I'm not surprised it blew up. It's encoded to the user. You'd better give the next one to me to fix.

Never mind. Just get to the Valoria, the Colonel hissed, coming up behind her almost dragging Seven of Nine with him. If I get delayed, don't stop. Just get out of here!

He peered around the door post carefully. There was still nobody in sight. To the first building, then make your way around, he whispered. It's daylight so we can't afford to creep around. Just run. He pushed both women out of the cell complex towards the low building he had pointed out. He himself sprinted for a ruined building and scrabbled amongst the rubble, finally pulling out a wooden spar before running after them.

Round there, then 300 yards in the open. Go! He panted waving towards the corner of the building they were crouched beside. 

Come on Mrs Nine. Soon have you tucked up in bed, he declared with confidence.

The short dash to the building had taken its toll of Seven of Nine's already strained and limited Borg resources and she was trembling from exhaustion. Seeing her state he caught her up in his arms and carried her after the flying Lieutenant Paris.

As he breasted the end of the building he could see B'Elanna already halfway to the Valoria. More alarming were two squads of Destron Guards converging on them. Determinedly he set off for the ship, then realised that with Seven of Nine in his arms he was not going to make it. Already several guards had stopped to shoot at B'Elanna, now less than fifty metres from the ship.

I think you will have to do the best you can, he whispered to the dazed Seven of Nine, placing her gently on the ground and giving her a gentle push forward. I'll try and hold them off.

Thus said he charged at the nearest squad, brandishing his makeshift club and screaming like the banshee.

They watched him coming in confusion for a full five seconds before bringing their weapons to bear. It was a full five seconds too long. With a final bound he was amongst them, making it impossible to fire without a real danger of hitting themselves, a problem that two Destrons found to their cost as they stunned each other. The Colonel's charge ended with the skittling of three more and finished with him thrusting the end into a fourth. The remaining two, unable to contend with the savage attack, ran.

Finding no more enemies within reach, the Colonel turned and groaned. Seven of Nine was still standing where he had put her. There was enough time to reach the shuttle or Seven of Nine before being overrun. He made his choice and headed for Seven. 

The Colonel was within three strides of catching her when Seven was caught by a Destron phasor beam. Desperately he caught her before she fell and shielded her from more strikes, turning his back to his enemies, before gently lowering her to the ground. 

I'm sorry my love, he whispered, kneeling over her. I tried for too long!

Before he could spring up again he in turn was struck by three beams and fell, sprawling over Seven. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Valoria roaring into the sky.

  


B'Elanna had taken it as read that the Colonel was going to look after Seven of Nine the moment he had gathered her up in his arms and had simply run as instructed. Head down, she put in the concentration that had led her into the athletics team at Starfleet Academy during her short tenure, even when phasor beams started to strike the ground around her.

For a moment she stumbled as a beam rent a gouge in the floor infront of her, but she caught herself and leapt over the rent and onto the boarding ramp of the ship.

Before she ducked inside, she looked back and saw the Colonel, carrying Seven of Nine start out from the dubious cover of the building. He was so slow. Then she entered the ship to find two things in her path.

The first was a large white box, nearly a Metre in all directions. The second was a white haired figure on his knees, securing an access hatch on the box. With no time for questions, she kicked him hard in the back, then as he reared, smashed his head against the same box. He crumpled, blood oozing from his forehead where it had impacted on the corner. Only then did she realise what he had been doing and what the box was. He had been priming the bomb!

Again B'Elanna risked a peek outside.

Seven of Nine standing motionless less than halfway to the Valoria. Come on! She screamed at the dazed woman, waving frantically.

Seven of Nine looked her way and took a step, then stopped again, unable or unwilling to move. More obvious was the Colonel charging towards her.

Taking the pilots console, B'Elanna energised the engines and watched in desperation from the cockpit window as first Seven, then the Colonel were caught in laser fire from the Destrons weapons and slumped to the ground. Wretchedly she sealed the doors and applied power, lifting the Valoria into the sky.

Five frantic minutes later she set the ship into a safe orbit and found once in space the Valoria already had firm ideas as to where she was going. The auto-pilot cut in and the ship turned to face a course, before blasting off at Warp 3. Nothing she could do would persuade it otherwise. 

Instead B'Elanna turned to her other problems. Her unwanted passenger was starting to recover. So she secured him with a length of flex ripped from a control panel before turned her attention to the controls on the box. Without an obvious 'Off' switch she sensibly decided that a tri-corder or her passenger were going to be necessary before she went too far with it.

From there, was the task of locating Voyager from the Valoria's sensor station. Voyager was easy to detect, so were the massive energy discharges that indicated where the two fleets had joined in battle. The latter lay between her and Voyager and was going to be a dangerous place for the Valoria to venture. She also scanned the planet for both Seven of Nine's and the Colonel's life signs. She found them, moving slowly but together. At least it meant they were still alive, she told herself. But there was no chance of a transporter lock at this range and until she could override the autopilot there was no option of going back. Visions of the Colonel standing over her, his knife at her throat and demanding her, 'To do her duty and follow his instructions at all costs', made her wince. He had prioritised her duties.

Well she did not have a lot of choice at the moment, she decided setting to work on unscrambling the automatic pilot.

An hour later B'Elanna tried to adjust the Valorias course to head directly for Voyager. Valoria refused the commands. In frustration she turned to the Destorn, laying conscious on the floor where she had left him.

Who are you and how do I defuse the bomb? She demanded.

I am Trunak. I am responsible for arming the device, ready for departure. It cannot be defused, Trunak declared. The firing mechanisim has been linked to your ships systems. It will explode when the ship is at the correct position to the Destron Empires sun. Any attempt to diffuse it will force the ship to take control of the ship and deploy security measures.

It looks as if your fleet has been destroyed, B'Elanna pointed out. There are no more energy discharges being detected by the sensors. And you know Voyager is on course for your home world, probably with a similar bomb? You've lost!

No. We have not lost! Trunak declared fiercely. Their fleet will have been destroyed as well. That is the way of the war. Our planet will be destroyed, but so will the Empires! That is also the way of things. The war will end!

Seems like losing to me, B'Elanna observed. There is supposed to be somebody left to say the wars stopped. Why not simply stop fighting?

Because there can only be one Destron, Trunak spat.

So I'll turn this ship around and send it into your Destrons sun? B'Elanna offered. Then when Voyager explodes there will only be one Destron, the Empires.

It is the wrong Destron.

So? You won't be there to complain, she snapped. The Colonel is right you are stupid.

Trunak went silent.

B'Elanna offered more calmly. If you will help defuse this bomb and the one on Voyager. Perhaps Captain Janeway can help you make peace with the Empire?

There can only be one Destron, Trunak repeated stubbornly.

B'Elanna sighed. She was not a negotiator like the Captain, capable of gentle reasoning with all but the most belligerent. Nor did she have the physical presence of the Colonel for when reasoning failed.

What will happen to the Colonel and Seven? She asked changing the subject.

They will be tried and executed in a couple of days. Once the enormity of your treachery is known, Trunak said solemnly.

Not wanting to die isn't treachery! B'Elanna exploded.

They have interfered with the Federations plans. It is treachery.

Now thoroughly alarmed, B'Elanna turned her attention back to the Trilithium device and how it might control the ship.

  


We've found how the Colonel got in! Ensign Carver exclaimed in triumph. There is an access panel to an emergency bypass trunk. And he never reconnected the alarms.

It was the first good news the Captain had received in nearly a week and it prompted a wan smile. Perhaps he expected to use it again? She suggested. Where does it go?

Don't really know, Carver admitted. It's meant to link into the vent ducts, so I suppose we could get almost anywhere.

Ensign Kim, how is the computer coming? The Captain asked. I would like to know where the Destrons are.

Kim looked up from the remains of Seven of Nines computer terminal and shook his head. I've got in, he declared. But it's a real mess. I'm sure there is nobody in the Torpedo Room, or Airponics. But I can't say about anywhere else.

It'll do. There is a weapons store next to the Torpedo Room. We'll start there. Carver, gather a security team for an assault squad and follow me. Chakotay, bring a second team to control Engineering when we've cleared it. Mr Kim, keep working on the computer, the Captain reeled off her orders quickly, then checked as Carver interrupted.

Excuse me, Captain, he said quickly. But you shouldn't be with the team to take Engineering. It isn't safe. Security can take it. It was one of the scenarios the Colonel planned out for us.

It is my ship and I want it back, she snapped. I'm coming.

Carver looked appealingly at Chakotay, who shook his head.

Aye, Ma'am, he agreed unhappily and dived after her as she ducked through the access port, quickly followed by eight others.

  


You said the Colonel had a scenario for this? The Captain asked quietly twenty minutes later as they armed themselves from the weapons locker. What is it and will it work?

Carver grinned. Does the Colonel love Seven of Nine? He asked confidently. It works. We tried it on the holodeck.

Then you had better tell me what you want me to do, she said quietly. I'm taking a tip from him. This is your operation. But I'm coming in with you.

Aye Ma'am, Carver agreed readily, before turning to brief his team.

We do it as we practised. It should be easier, there are none of us in there, so anybody in the wrong spot is an enemy. T'Pau take the vents, Holise the Jefferies Tubes, the Captain and I'll take the door. We go in twenty minutes exactly.

Six security guards disappeared on their missions.

  


There really was no contest, the Captain realised twenty-five minutes later, as she gazed around Engineering. Even if the six Destrons in Engineering had known they were coming they would have had no chance. 

At nineteen minutes, Carver had had her sidling upto the main entrance into Engineering, on her side, her back firmly against the wall to avoid tripping the sensors, whilst he had slid along the opposite wall in similar fashion. As the twenty minute mark arrived, he tripped the door sensors making them open, then as they started to close they had both tossed magnesium flares into Engineering. At the same time a third had been dropped from an overhead vent at the back.

The resultant blinding flashes would have incapacitated everybody in the room no matter how prepared they had been.

Eight seconds later, Carver rose to his knees and had brought his phasor rifle up ready. The act tripped the door again and he fired at the first target he saw. A split second later the remaining three vent covers clattered to the ground and more phasor beams sprang out from the ceiling. If there had been anybody left to realise where the new deadly fire was coming from and had taken cover in one of the few remaining safe places, then they too would have been cut down as the covers to the Jefferies Tubes blew open to reveal another two security guards, who raked their weapons across those points of dubious cover. Before that fire had died away, Carver and the remaining guard had dived full length through the door, ready to pick off anybody left that was in a position to resist.

All in all the whole attack had lasted less than a minute and had resulted in six dead Destrons and a largely undamaged Engine Room for Chakotay and his small team of engineers as they pounded up the corridor.

Engineering secure, Ma'am, Carver announced happily in his best Colonel imitation voice and drawing himself up to attention in front of her.

She was almost certain he wanted to salute and broke into a smile at the thought. I'm impressed, she admitted. It was well done.

Carver beamed with pleasure. We can take the Bridge too, if you want, Captain? He offered. It is messier 'cos there are fewer places to attack from. But they don't know what's happened up there yet.

For a moment the Captain was tempted, buoyed by the ease Engineering had been taken and the enthusiasm of her junior officer and his team. Then the sight of a Destron with severe phasor burns made her wince and reminded her of who she was and what she was supposed to represent. If they were in the Colonel's army, she would undoubtedly have stormed the Bridge, with all the calm detachment her security team had displayed in Engineering. But Starfleet was peaceful and she had sworn to follow Starfleet philosophy. She could take her ship back from Engineering and without more bloodshed.

I'm not having anymore casualties. We take control from here, then offer terms, she decreed. 

I doubt there is more than a skeleton crew, so they can't resist for long, she added. Sweep the ships for anybody left and put them in the Brig.

Aye, Captain, Carver responded. This time he did salute, then shuffled uncomfortably as he realised what he had done. Sorry, Captain. But the Colonel always does it! He stammered in embarrassment at the sudden burst of laughter that surrounded him.

I'll deal with him when I get him back, the Captain grinned. Now go and find some Destrons and the bomb.

She turned to the communicator. This is Captain Janeway to the Bridge. I have retaken control of this ship. I do not want to fight you. I want to offer terms for peace, she declared slowly.

We must finish our mission, the voice of Takart floated back.

My engineering crew will disarm the bomb. Without it you will not be able to complete your mission, the Captain rejoined firmly. I am coming up to the Bridge, alone and unarmed. We will talk peace.

There was no reply.

Is that wise, Kathryn? Chalotay whispered. What do we do if they take you hostage. We still don't know how many are up there!

Then all your problems are gone and you can let Carver have his head, Commander, she said drawled stiffly and headed for the door. 

They seem to work from the Colonel's book, not Starfleets, she called over her shoulder as the door swished open for her. And it works.

  


The door of the turbo lift swished open on the Bridge and Captain Janeway closed her eyes, waiting for the searing heat of a phasor to hit her. For five seconds she stood like that, then cautiously opened them again when it did not happen.

There was only one occupant on the Bridge, Takart, and he was standing politely waiting for her.

Any attempt to disarm the device will force it to take control of the ship, he announced quietly. The crew were only here to ensure we avoided the Federation fleet. We are no longer necessary. The Federation Fleet has been destroyed.

So you want to destroy a defenceless planet? The Captain asked carefully, stepping forward.

They would build new ships eventually, as will we, Takart pointed out. Not that they will need them. They have acquired a vessel. I believe its mission is the same as ours.

Won't your fleet destroy it?

The Empire's fleet has been destroyed. This ship is all that is left, Takart admitted.

Show me, the Captain demanded. We can stop it. Then perhaps we can help you end your war?

There can be only one Destron, Takart snapped.

Perhaps that's the answer, the Captain declared, touching her communicator and taking her seat. Commander Chakotay, bring somebody up to fly the ship.

This is the ship, Takart observed, bringing up the view screen as the Captain had ordered whilst they waited for the crew to arrive. I observed it leave Federation space. It is on an opposite course to ours.

The Valoria! Captain Janeway exclaimed. 

I doubt if she is under Federation control, she said confidently. Janeway to the Valoria, respond.

B'Elanna Paris, Captain. Is it safe to board? A worried B'Elanna's voice rang out.

We are in control, the Captain assured her. Your status?

One prisoner, a disarmed bomb and me. 

Where are the others? The Captain demanded in alarm.

I had to leave the Colonel and Seven behind, Captain! He stopped to go back for Seven because she wouldn't move! The Destrons will execute them! There was a pleading note in B'Elanna's outburst.

I'll stop them! the Captain promised in her alarm. Come aboard and disarm the Trilithium bomb!

  


Joe Caerey swallowed nervously as he reached to cut the wire that he reckoned would deactivate the bomb in Cargo Bay 1. Weapons in general and bomb disposal in particular were not high in his list of proficient duties, nor, evidently, was it high in Lieutenant Chow's the ships torpedo specialist. 

Together they had patiently gone over the device tracing and retracing the hair thin wires and traps with tri-corders, attempting to divine the bombs links, until they had both come to the conclusion that they were confused. Caerey had drawn the short straw to snip the one wire that looked promising, but it was as much guesswork as actual knowledge. He closed his eyes and started to squeeze the cutters.

If you cut that one we'll be going round in circles for days! B'Elanna Paris's voice scolded from behind.

Caerey had never heard anything so welcome as that reprimand. He pulled his arm clear and sank gratefully to the ground, his free arm wiping copious amounts of sweat from his forehead.

He looked up. And I suppose you have a better idea, Lieutenant?

B'Elanna grinned at him. Got the computer up? She asked.

Warily Caerey nodded.

Computer. Isolate all core sections related to Navigation, Propulsion, Guidance and Life Support, Security Paris Beta 9842, B'Elanna demanded.

_Sectors Isolated_, the computer responded.

Terminate isolated sectors.

_Warning, Terminating core functions will affect safety functions!_

_Acknowledged. Isolated processes terminated_.

Now you can cut the black and white wire and restart everything, B'Elanna offered.

It's like the one on Valoria, B'Elanna explained to the Captain, as Caerey turned to the task, grateful that he had at least found the right wire. It is programmed to get all its data from the ships computer. If it suddenly finds it doesn't know where it is, it doesn't know when to explode. It is too valuable to just explode anywhere, so it doesn't. Took me hours to work it out.

Now I have to go and get Seven of Nine, she turned for the door, but was stopped by the Captain. 

We will go together. Just get my engines running, she said quietly. Now I want to talk to your prisoner and Trakart.

  


I think you have some more explaining to do, the Captain challenged the two Destrons in her Ready Room. She nodded at Trunak. You could be a clones. Everything you do is matched, even the bombs were identical.

Trakart sighed. I told you we were uniquely matched, Captain Janeway, he said. We are uniquely matched in other ways as well, the Federation home planet has a mass within 1000 tonnes of the Empires. We are too similar to be clones. It is why there can only be one Destron. But you will not believe the reasons.

Try me, the Captain drawled. You've heard what we've faced. You'd be amazed at what I can believe.

We were an advanced race from another galaxy, Trakart started slowly. Probably the greatest race in the Universe, with over 100,000 planets in our Empire. All ruled by the absolute decree of the Emperor. He looked at the Captain for some sort of recognition.

Go on, she said quietly. 

The records claim that our galaxy was facing extinction. I do not know how, some stories say it was going to collide with another, others that it was going to be destroyed by a quantum phenomena of incalculable power.

Dangerous place, the Galaxy, the Captain agreed sympathetically.

So a vessel was built, with a crew numbered in tens of thousands and capable of sustaining itself for generations, Trakart continued. The mission, as laid down by the Emperor, was to create a colony in another galaxy, then establish more colonies. Making space as was required. Shortly after the ship broached the Galactic Barrier, the Destron Empire disappeared.

The Captain demanded.

Trakart repeated. There was no record of any event and a galaxy takes a long time to die. It left only the crew aboard the deep space exploration ship. He continued. Five hundred cycles ago we discovered a planet that was perfect for our needs and the re-founding of the Empire. A hundred cycles later we were strong enough to commence the second part of the plan. It was how we met the Federation.

So why start a war? Why not cooperate? The Captain demanded.

You still do not understand, Trakart sighed. The orders were to make space for the Empire. Those orders cannot be rescinded by anybody but the Emperor. The Federation, they will tell you, have the same orders from their Director, the same story and the same requirements. Any planet we took, they invaded and vice-a-versa. There is no choice.

That is true, Trunak admitted solemnly.

Trakart was right, there was a lot of things the Captain did not understand. The need for their war was only one. At least that had a simple, all encompassing, if illogical and un-diplomatic answer. The others were more far more difficult to balance. The similarity between the two Destrons, the equality of their technologies, the chances of two identical planets forming in close proximity. All defied an understandable explanation. Unless..

You are from parallel Universes! She gasped in sudden realisation, grasping the straw firmly in both hands.

Captain Janeway? Trakart queried.

Ensign Kim, report to my Ready Room, the Captain demanded quickly before she answered the questioning looks.

There are what we call Alternative Universes, where things are almost identical, she explained quickly. We've met one or two, so I know they exist. I try to ignore the theory of them because it is all tied with temporal mechanics. But your appearance, your technology, the planets you occupy are too similar to be natural in any single Universe. Somehow they have become entangled. The question is which is the one that shouldn't be here?

Harry, go to Astrometrics. Scan for temporal anomalies, the Captain demanded as Kim made his appearance through the door. I don't know where it is, or how big it is. But it is there. Then work out how to close a temporal anomaly.

  


Seven of Nine woke in slowly, taking stock of her condition before opening her eye's. There was no pain, in fact there was little feeling at all. Only the constant pressure on her wrists, ankles and back. That told her she was probably laying down and had been restrained.

Her Borg implants, already damaged, now refused to supply even the results of their limited diagnostic tests. That suggested they were now well below useful operating limits. It had been their failure that had permitted her recapture, she remembered. Although she had tried to run, the Cardascular and Vascular implants, meant to help control her physical movements and respiratory systems had failed to respond, leaving her staggering like a weak baby.

The simile made her think of her own developing infant. 

Seven of Nine had learnt that during the later stages of pregnancy the child would start to move and start to 'Kick'. Ensign Samantha Wildman had enthusiastically agreed with the statement when she asked about the sensations to be expected, then had explained in great detail how Naomi Wildman had 'kicked like a donkey', until her kidneys, ribs and spine were so badly bruised she could barely stand.

Seven of Nine had been less than enthusiastic about this concept and had hoped her Borg enhanced baby would have the sense not to move. Now, incapable of applying any measuring devices, she found herself fervently wishing it would, just to prove it was still there.

Finally she risked opening her eyes.

The room she was in was not unlike of Voyager's sickbay, white walls, constant lighting and medical trolley. Unlike Voyager's sickbay it included just the one couch, the one she was secured to. Where her husband was she did not know. She knew he had caught her as she fell, it was a reasonable assumption that he had been captured as well. Silently she concentrated, trying to link to the small implant in the Colonel's neck. There was no response. Whether it was the fault of her own systems or the Colonels was unclear, that he might be dead was not an option. For nearly two years, if she wanted it, he was there, a constant comforting presence. Not that she needed it very often, but it was there, the knowledge itself was a comfort. Its absence, without even the crew of Voyager, left her feeling apprehensive.

She was not alone for long however. Scarcely had she completed her limited examination of her surrounds when three figures entered. The first, dressed in a black cloak, she recognised as Maka. The others, in a white cloaks, were new to her.

Their function quickly became apparent when they started to run a sensory devices over her.

Comments, Doctor? Maka demanded when the first white coat had finished.

The Doctor shrugged, Female, basically the same species as the human male and compatible, age about 32 cycles, approximately six months pregnant. Medically there is nothing wrong with her natural systems or the foetus, Admiral. I do not know about the mechanical apparatus. He looked questioningly at the second white coated Destron.

The devices are of advanced design, he admitted. But they are damaged.

Can they be repaired Yoraith? Maka demanded impatiently.

Yoraith ran a hand into his white hair and scratched. With some assistance from the subject we can repair most of the damage. Enough to make her functional, say 80%, Admiral.

Would the portable device complete repairs? Maka demanded,

Yoraith shook his head. It is not designed to do that. It merely maintains the mechanical systems. It would perhaps prevent them failing further?

And we can duplicate the systems?

Most of them, not to the same finesse or compact designs.

Very well. You may leave, Maka accepted.

Your barbaric mate killed three troopers, he said mildly to Seven of Nine as he sat on the edge of her couch. I am surprised that you could become attached to something that primitive, you are obviously more intelligent than he?

He is intelligent and adaptable, Seven of Nine declared coldly. The status of Colonel Samuels?

I think clever, not intelligent. He had me believing he wasn't a spy, Maka accepted. But now he will face the fate of saboteurs. He will be executed as soon as his wounds have been treated, probably tomorrow morning.

Colonel Samuels is not a saboteur! Seven of Nine snapped angrily.

He sabotaged our plans for destroying the Empire and your ship is still on course for Destron, Maka pointed out. Now our plans for you. Your implants are of great interest to us. We have many injured and crippled Destrons. We intend to repair your implants so that we may copy them. It will give us a tactical advantage. We will have more crews for our ships and soldiers to fight the enemy with.

Of course it will be a great advantage if you will assist and it means your baby will survive? He left the suggestion hanging.

It forced Seven of Nine to consider the implications for, what for her was, a long time.

Finally she sought clarification. If I agree, my offspring and I will be permitted to live as a captive, until the destruction of your race?

We will be victorious, using your technology, Maka disputed. 

Your race shows no signs of being capable of victory, Seven of Nine spat back. My Borg technology will be insufficient. I will not permit my child to be a captive. I refuse to be treated.

Maka shrugged. Alive or dead we can use your technology, he observed. Dead takes a little longer as we will have to experiment more. You may change your mind. Tomorrow after you have seen the execution.

He got up and left. Leaving Seven of Nine to consider what good news she had learnt.

There was some, she reasoned. The Colonel and her baby were still alive and Voyager was on her way. It was not sufficient for a restful nights sleep, so she lay awake considering what she could do to prevent the execution, until Maka and two guards returned to take her to witness the spectacle.

There is a crowd gathering, Seven of Nine observed as, with Maka supporting her, they stepped onto a low balcony overlooking a courtyard. 

Maka agreed. Executions are not common. They are reserved for traitors only. The people wish to see the person responsible for our failure to crush the Empire be punished.

You see those two posts, he continued, pointing to two vertical pillars in the centre of the yard. Your mate will be suspended between them for the execution. Death will be through a plasma discharge passing between the posts. 

It will be quick, he offered apologetically as Seven of Nine gasped in horror.

  


The Colonel was woken up. Roughly, by the simple and primitive expedient of a bucket of water being thrown over him.

Get up, treacherous human scum! The gaoler's wake up call also left something to be desired. It is time.

Does that mean I get a decent breakfast? the Colonel gasped, shaking head and wiping his face with his bound hands. It is traditional along with last words and so on. It is supposed to make hanging quicker?

The Colonel and his burly jailer had not 'Hit it off' together. The latter had struck out at him with his ever present nightstick baton, claiming he had been slow when he had stumbled into this new, darkened cell the previous night. Then there had been more prods and blows from him during the night until wracked with pain the Colonel had passed out.

There is no breakfast, human, the gaoler assured him with an evil grin. It wastes time.

How about a drink?

You had that. It was required to wake you up.

Emptying the piss-pot over me? The Colonel asked sliding off the table that had formed his bed. I thought you were just being clumsy!

The response gained him a blow from the nightstick across his back and barely treated burns, forcing him to stagger forward. The gaoler reached for him again, grabbing his shirt to swing him around for another more telling blow.

Feeling his shirt being grabbed had the Colonel spinning, bringing his bound and clasped hands up to strike the heavy Destron in the neck below the ear sending him crashing to the floor. It was immediately matched with a heavy boot into the gaolers face.

Sadistic bastard, the Colonel spat. I hope you buggers are superstitious, because I'll be back for you.

Straightening himself up as well as he could he made for the cell door to be met by two more jailers, both with drawn batons. 

Just given the Bell Boy his tip, the Colonel excused quickly. I can see myself out.

Tight-lipped they caught him by the arms and hauled him towards the exit.

  


That was how Seven of Nine saw the Colonel from her vantage point, bruised and bloodied, being half carried, half dragged between his two jailers. Her resolve broke.

The execution must be stopped, she demanded, turning to Maka. I will assist your engineers in creating Borg devices.

The offer was made for your life, not his, Maka declared.

From the corner of her eye Seven could see the two jailers secure the Colonel's hands to two heavy cables using manacles.

I can enhance your weapons technologies, Seven pleaded. It will give you a superior tactical advantage.

They were tightening the cables now, raising him off his feet.

Are you sure? Maka queried. I will hate to see you being placed between those posts because you lied?

I am incapable of lying! Seven of Nine snapped. The Colonel must be freed!

And if he tried to remove you from Destron? Maka asked.

I would prevent it.

I will see what I can do, Maka agreed turning away.

Do so, quickly. The Colonel was now a good 0.3 Metres above the ground and was being stretched painfully to prevent movement. Seven could see the grimace of pain on his face.

  


Any signs of them? The Captain demanded for the fourth time in twenty minutes.

Ensign Kala shook his head apologetically at her. 

Kala's admission of failure was more symbolic of the fact that the force field over Destron was foiling Voyager scans, than any particular limits on her behalf, but it did not save her from the hostile and accusing glare. A symbol of the Captain's terror of the fate that had been foretold for her two missing crew members.

Find them! She snapped irritably. Tom take us closer. Through the Poly-morphic shield if you have to.

For two hours she had paced the Bridge as Engineering systematically brought Voyager and her systems back on-line. Then another four as Voyager struggled to reach Destron under reduced power. Her patience her patience had now all but snapped.

I've found the Colonel! Kala exploded as the Voyager bucketed into the outer atmosphere of Destron. Turn left to 183 degrees. I'm trying to lock on.

The Captain demanded anxiously.

Not yet, Captain. She won't be far away, Kala offered with a nervous grin. The light and hopeful comment earned her another glare from the Captain.

Don't beam him up until you find her, she said.

Kala commented nervously a few minutes later. I am detecting a massive energy build up near the Colonel. If it releases it will kill him.

Still looking, Kala agreed as the Captain headed for the turbo lift.

  


Seven of Nine was watching the events before her in horror. The Colonel had screamed and thrashed briefly when the pillars bearing him had started to glow as power was applied. He was still alive, she had seen his head move, but she knew what was about to happen and she was powerless to prevent it. When the power levels were high enough an arc would be established between the two and run up and down their lengths. Anything caught within it, such as the Colonel, would be vaporised in a brief but incredibly painful moment.

Maka had been gone for a full ten minutes and as nothing else had happened in the courtyard, she had hoped that he had managed to put a hold on the execution, at least temporarily. Now it looked as if it had been nothing more than a chance to increase the tension in the crowd. They were coo-ing appreciatively as the incandescence in the pillars increased.

An instant before the pillars sparked in a blinding pulse of light, she caught the blue haze of a transport in progress and collapsed in relief.

It was short lived relief.

Maka reappeared and grabbed her by the hair and pulling her to her feet, at the same time withdrawing his phasor. He screamed. You were attempting to delay the execution to allow an escape attempt!

The weapons discharge went wide as they both dematerialised.

Put the weapon down! The Captain demanded as Maka and Seven materialised in the Transporter Room, then she gaped in astonishment, the new Destron was identical to the one in the Brig. The moment of delay allowed Maka to throw Seven to the floor and spin to face the Captain, levelling his weapon with a cry of 'Traitors!. Ensign Carver, still trying to emulate his military instructor, fired and Maka fell beside his erstwhile victim.

Get Seven to the Sickbay I may need her. And when he's awake, she indicated the unconscious Destron. Bring him and Trakart to the Conference Room, the Captain hissed the order before turning away to make her way back to the Bridge and the Ready Room.

  


Three hours later the Captain faced the two Destrons and her senior officers in the Conference Room. Harry, What have you found? She asked quietly.

There are two anomalies, Kim reported. They form portals between universes, but are so big they interlink. We think they are about 18 light years across.

Anomalies that big aren't stable. We should have detected them. Why weren't they detected? Chakotay demanded.

I don't know, Kim admitted. We would have to ask Seven. But these portals are stable, the only indication found in the records was an increase in background interference.

Are you sure I can't persuade you to declare peace? The Captain demanded of the Destrons. Now you know the truth?

It is tempting, Trakart admitted. I would like to see the end of this eternal war and I can see how pointless it is. But there will always be conflict. Our needs and desires will always collide, Trakart admitted. If we made peace now, it will be broken in a few cycles.

Admiral Maka?

I am of like mind to Admiral Trakart, Maka admitted.

The Captain nodded. In Starfleet we try to end wars. We believe that cooperation yields more beneficial results than war, she declared. If I can't persuade you to call a truce. Perhaps we can stop you fighting. B'Elanna?

We think we can close the portals, B'Elanna announced. Harry and I have been going over the notes Doctor Harrington made for his 'time machine'. If we link the trilithium devices to a Harrington power concentrator we can create a temporal vortex. If it were detonated in the portal it will 'suck' the portal closed. 

At least we think so, she added lamely. 

If it doesn't then we destroy every planet in 60 light years, including yours, Kim observed.

It would mean the war would be over, the Maka observed thoughtfully. And there would only be one Destron left. I accept, Captain.

The Captain looked at Trakart.

I believe it is acceptable, Captain. It would also be for the best for your own Universe. If we were to become an alliance we would expand quickly. We are a warlike race.

How long do you need? The Captain queried thankfully.

Three days, if the Destrons help, B'Elanna volunteered.

Tom, plot a course to return our guests to their homes.

  


That's that! The Captain sighed in relief three days later, after the two Trilithium bombs flashed across the view screens and Kim pronounced the portals firmly closed. Tom put us back on course. If we didn't need that Dilithium before, we do now.

And at least three weeks repairs, Chakotay commented easily. 

Can I invite you to dinner to night? He asked hopefully.

I have another engagement, the Captain declared stiffly. You will have to make do with Abbott.

Captain, report to Astro-Metrics, immediate, Seven of Nine's strident voice boomed from her intercom and allowed her to ignore the look of pain on Chakotay's voice.

  


I thought the Doctor told you to regenerate? The Captain demanded as she entered Astrometrics.

The Doctor has repaired the implants that received most damage, Seven declared stonily. I have made errors in the reconfiguration of the sensor systems, or I would have detected the Temporal Anomalies before the ship was placed in jeopardy. It is imperative I discover them, for the safety of the ship. Repairs to my remaining implants and extended regeneration will wait. 

Okay, So you've found the error? The Captain softened in resignation. Seven was in single-minded mode. The only person who could get around that was the Colonel, then only when he was being as single-minded.

I have reviewed the scans Ensign Kim made to detect the anomalies, Seven of Nine said, ignoring the Captains question. The Trilithium devices Voyager detonated left a marked Tacion signature both in normal space and in subspace.

That's to be expected. Tacions are always released in Temporal events, the Captain agreed. 

There was a similar signature in the region of the Portals before the devices were detonated. I believe that the portals were created by the Destrons, Seven responded simply.

The portals were not natural? The Captain exclaimed in horror. You think the Destrons will simply reopen them when they think they are strong enough?

Seven of Nine nodded. It is a possibility. When they have rediscovered the technology. To use the Colonel's terminology, 'They are stupid enough to do so'. I think they enjoyed the conflict. I have returned the sensor systems to their original specifications, until I have discovered the cause of my error.

There was a personal reason for postponing regeneration, Seven of Nine added softly. 

Go on, the Captain prompted.

I believe I felt the baby 'kick' 4.2 hours ago, Seven reported, her voice hinting at wonder. I wish to experience it again to confirm the sensation. I will be incapable of doing so during regeneration.

If it is kicking already, then I think you will become fed up with it long before term, the Captain laughed at Seven's look of anticipation. Has Sam told you how Naomi kicked her? Kicked so hard she collapsed on my floor once, just as I was telling her to stop running errands for Neelix and rest. You should too.

I will regenerate, after I have tended to the Colonel, Seven accepted. He needs additional care. I have not been able to introduce additional Nano-probes to speed his recovery.

  


From his vantage point in the Continumn Dorran Q grunted. Partly in amusement. But mostly in annoyance, that his plans should be thwarted by such primitive creatures. There would have to be revenge, but first he would have to study the new specimens. He had time, he had an eternity and when that finished he could just go back and start again.

  


  


  


Revision 54


	5. Good Samaritans (New 27/1/02)

**Good Samaritans**

_Voyager after her contact with the Destrons takes an opportunity for repair and recuperation. Captain Janeway discovers a problem and offers passage to some refugees. Seven of Nine receives an unpleasant surprise._

_Voyager and the characters aboard her (except the Colonel and additional characters) in this story are copyright of Paramount. No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead._

_The story line and the Colonel are my own._

_Constructive criticism and comments are welcome on e-mail story@rgower.plus.com _

_If like me you like to know why things occur like they do, I would heartily recommend you start at chapter 1-01 Castaway. _

_This story is rated PG13 _

_©R Gower 2002_

  


Captains Personal Log. Voyager will enter orbit over an uninhabited planet within the next four hours. I hope that we will finally manage to replenish our stocks of Dilithium and other minerals from the abundant supplies that were detected by Astrometrics. It should also give us the opportunity to complete the repairs to the ship after the Destrons acts of vandalism and even get some of the shore leave we desperately need. 

The Doctor has also advised that Tuvok's self healing trance has achieved the impossible. The damage to his spine has been repaired. All that needs to be done is rouse him from unconsciousness, Captain Janeway was trying to be upbeat with her logs, hoping it would improve her mood which was best described as dire. She was not deliberately lying to them, she told herself confidently, after all that would be lying to herself and she would never be able to look herself in the mirror if she did that. She was just not elucidating her true feelings over the level of betrayal she was the victim of. 

Chakotay knew there was no way she could involve herself whilst they were in the Delta Quadrant, even the Colonel had agreed that! She thought. It damaged the Commanders ability to put people she cared for into danger if necessary. But he did know she was fond of him. How could he get involved with a very junior ensign barely half his age!

The attachment between Ensign Abbott and the Commander, was now seen too often in public for his claim that there was nothing between them to be true. It was an outright lie. She knew Maqui could lie, that was why they were terrorists. That thought brought her up short. Her own thoughts had gone too far. She had trusted Chakotay for years. He had been her closest friend as they had battled their way through the Delta Quadrant. She could no more think of him as a Maqui than as an enemy. 

She was going to have to get used to it, she told herself. She had given up so much else for her ship and crew, Chakotay was going to have to be another.

With a sigh she tugged at her jacket to get it straight and headed for the door.

  


I intend to wake Commander Tuvok gently, the Doctor announced to the Captain in the Sick Bay. I do not want the Colonel to cause as much damage as has been repaired, he added, as if to explain the soldiers absence. I have produced a stimulant that will have the desired effect without physical abuse.

And if gentle doesn't work the Doctors added a mean backhand to his programme, Tom Paris sniped cheerfully.

It will not be necessary, the Doctor bit. It is against my ethical routines to cause more damage than I have repaired!

Get on with it, Doctor, the Captain snapped in irritation, preventing an elongated discussion on one of the Doctors favoured topics. 

The Doctor gave a pained expression that said all he thought about that comment and placed his hypospray against Tuvok's neck.

I'll go and find the Colonel, Shall I? Tom Paris suggested after five minutes of nothing happening. I don't think the spray is working.

It will just take a little time to work, the Doctor argued, checking his tri-corder. The spray was not strong enough for such an extended coma. I will increase the number of endorphines in the spray. He busied himself replicating a new batch of his spray.

He was about to apply it when Tuvok whispered quietly. I require the external stimulus of pain to regain bodily functions. Hit me!

I can't do that! The Doctor protested.

Hit me! Tuvok insisted.

Silently the Captain pushed past the Doctor and delivered a swinging slap across Tuvoks face.

Again. Harder!

Six times the Captain struck, each time putting more effort into the blow at Tuvoks continued insistence, until his hand grasped her wrist.

Treatment has been completed, Captain, Tuvok declared evenly, now fully awake. I will be available for duty shortly.

Only after I am satisfied you have recuperated, the Doctor interrupted. I doubt you will be able to walk for a while. You will have to learn how again.

Welcome back. I don't need you yet, the Captain grinned in relief, nursing her bruised hand. But tomorrow will be good. She turned and marched crisply for the exit feeling a lot more relaxed. Strangely it was not entirely due to the prospect of the return of her Chief of Security.

She had not reached the door before the Doctor stopped her. I need a word in private, Captain.

Oh, what about? She asked cautiously.

The Doctor led her into his office before replying. I'm worried about a number of the crew, Captain. Not least, you.

There is nothing wrong with me! The Captain protested.

You are displaying the symptoms of excessive strain, the Doctor retorted. I am instructing you to take a few days holiday, whilst we have the opportunity.

I can't spare the time! She protested more vigourously.

Ensign Kim with Commander Tuvok's guidance can look after the ship, the Doctor observed. I am also ordering Commander Chakotay to take the opportunity as well.

I can't take the time off while Chakotay is off! The Captain argued.

It is either that or I will record you as both incapable of duty, Captain, the Doctor threatened. Four days complete break from the ship will do you both good, perhaps you should go together.

You've been talking to the Colonel? She challenged.

I have the combined knowledge of four hundred years of Starfleet medical histories, the Doctor argued. I didn't need him to tell me there is something wrong!

He did offer to help, he added more circumspectly. He said he would kidnap you if you refused my medical order, or it was necessary.

What did he have in mind? She queried in sudden concern. She could imagine the sort of things the Colonel would do.

I think he was suggesting some form of activity weekend, the Doctor suggested. A few quick route marches, climb a few cliffs. The sort of thing he thinks is natural?

The Captain blanched at the threat. It'd kill me! I'll take some days off, she offered. But I want to be kept in constant contact with the ship.

  


What do you want, Colonel? B'Elanna Paris snapped as she hurried from panel to panel in Engineering, trying to keep the warp engines ticking over, whilst nursing her last Deuterium crystal. I haven't time for anything now. We're going to be on Emergency Power within a day or two. Besides I thought you were supposed to be waking Tuvok?

Commander Tuvok was an invitation only affair to which I wasn't invited. I wanted to ask a favour, please, Ma'am? The Colonel said hopefully.

What favour? B'Elanna demanded suspiciously.

I'd like to ask you to ensure Mrs Nine rests properly, whilst I'm playing nursemaid downstairs. Please? He begged. I would've asked Mr Neelix, but you're one of a very few people on the ship she listens to, after the Captain. Mr Neelix isn't.

She doesn't listen to me too often, B'Elanna grinned, pausing in her struggles for a moment to look up. Unless we're arguing. Why aren't you taking her with you.

I assure you she does, Ma'am. She tells me about your discussions in great detail, the Colonel encouraged with a smile. As for coming with me. I don't think the portable is upto the job anymore, I swear she's put an extra six inches on her waist. Certainly the Doctor doesn't think it is. So. Please, Lieutenant?

B'Elanna gave in to the childish pleading. I'll try, she agreed. I'll even try and find something for her to do sitting down. Something like the Transwarp Coil.

I wish you luck with that, the Colonel opined. I usually have to hold her down. But I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  


Seven of Nine was less certain about the Colonel's arrangements when, her regeneration cycle finished, she stepped from her booth to be met by the Colonel and a mug of her specially sweetened tea.

Just the right temperature, he declared approvingly holding out the mug to her. I thoroughly approve of Borg clockwork. Even if the Doctors regeneration routine wrecks havoc with my sex life and I don't get the chance to experience 'him' kicking properly!

She accepted and sipped it gratefully. The drink was technically a breach of the rules she had set for him to prove her independence, but her mouth was dry and she had yet to overcome the desire for excessive sweetness. 

It has been kicking during regeneration? She asked, a tinge of disappointment marking her voice. She had been tracing her pregnancy's progress with acute interest, cataloguing each new facet of the experience in minute detail. Much to the general amusement of the crew.

Saw it a couple of times from my bed, the Colonel admitted pointing towards a thin roll of blankets.

Her eyes followed the finger. You have been using the Cargo Bay as sleeping quarters? She demanded. It is in contravention to our agreement.

Only when I couldn't sleep. Besides you might have needed me, the Colonel protested, removing the empty cup from her hand to permit an embrace. Good morning, Sweetheart! If you get any bigger around the waist I won't be able to reach! He whispered as he kissed, then flinched. Well if you didn't feel that one. I certainly did! To object that strongly it must be a girl! Brutal little thing!

My waist has expanded 2.3mm during regeneration, Seven of Nine declared with certainty. I fail to see how its unconscious actions can be indicative of its sex?

Because the fair sex are by far the cruellest, the Colonel quipped. This one is proving it by kicking its poor father. Now, I have been volunteered to look after the landing party and ensure the Captain spends a little time off the ship whilst repairs are made.

I will collect my equipment, Seven of Nine announced simply, interrupting the Colonel's flow and moving for the door. You will require protection from the Captain. She will be upset if she is required to spend time from the ship. You have observed that females are more dangerous than males and you do not defend yourself well against the Captain.

Hold hard! You're not coming! Not this time! The Colonel protested. You aren't fully right after the last time and it almost gave the Doctor kittens.

The Doctor cannot breed. He is a hologram, She reminded him patiently.

The Colonel rolled his eye's in exasperation. I know. But if he could. You would have had him knee deep in the drated things. Fortunately I wasn't aware of anything, or the pile would have been much larger. 

Besides, you can't walk far and I fully intend to be back for the evenings. Lieutenant Paris does have something she needs your help with though, he added slyly. The Captain wants to use the Transwarp coil without it burning out our stock of crystals. Lieutenant Paris is wondering if we could rewire it for more range and less greed?

Seven of Nine snapped. If tampered with it will fail.

That's why you've been volunteered, the Colonel grinned. It'll stop you getting into trouble.

I believe there is a passage in your bible that reads, 'Remove the log from your own eye, before removing the speck from your brothers'. You also require protection from trouble! Seven of Nine snapped.

The statement stunned the Colonel. What makes you think I'm not trying to? He demanded, more sharply than he had the right to. I'm trying not to spend my time worrying about your safety. It might mean I won't walk blindly into mine!

Besides there is a difference, he added more contritely. I'm paid to get into and out of trouble. You're not.

The difference is immaterial, Seven opined stoutly. Monetary payments are no longer made.

Think of the size of the cheque, the Colonel grinned. I could retire!

His face fell again at Seven's glare. She had a bee in her bonnet and it's sting was aimed firmly at him for unwarranted protection.

the Colonel tried pleading gently. You know there is nobody in this ghastly Universe I would want beside me more than you. Especially if things became tight. In the same breath, there is nobody I want to keep safer. It gives me something to come back for. Especially as you are going to have our child. You know you aren't up to tramping around hills. But you can do something more important for our friends, helping them to get home. So please humour me?

Seven of Nine remained tight-lipped as she passed him. But turned dutifully towards Engineering as she left the Cargo Bay. The Colonel sagged and heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief. Their arguments were few and far between and he hated even those. This had been the closest to a blazing row he could remember since Cathor. This one would have to be paid for at some point, he knew, but it would save for a time he felt more up to the punishment.

  


Ensign Abbott also had plans for planet fall. All she needed was agreement from a senior officer. She had managed to trap Chakotay into conversation for that very purpose.

There are some indications of there having been and ancient settlement, Sir, she informed Chakotay proudly. I thought we could take a look? It would give us some purpose for time away from the ship?

It sounds like a good idea. I'm glad you are volunteering for something, Chakotay confided. I'll have a word with Ensigns Traith and Gomez. They are into that sort of work as well.

Abbott's face fell. I was hoping you would give me your anthroplogical expertise, she said. I know you're fascinated by ancient civilisations and it might be fun?

It was Chakotay's turn for a change of face. It took on a hunted look. I would like to, he admitted. Alien cultures always have a lot to offer, even extinct ones. But the Captain has been instructed to take some time off. I can't leave the ship if she's down there.

The Captain won't notice, Abbott voiced her opinion with some disgust. She trusts Tuvok and the Colonel more than you. The only reason she hasn't made him second officer is because she's scared he might take over.

It's not like that, Chakotay protested.

Isn't it? She demanded. Well perhaps not the Colonel. All he cares about is Seven of Nine. They say he threatened to kill B'Elanna Paris, if he tried to do something he didn't agree with. You're better than him and the Captain just uses you. 

There was a pregnant pause. Abbott went scarlet as she realised she had gone to far in her outburst.

I love you, she tried pleading. I want to be with just you. And I don't want to hide it anymore.

I'll pay a visit, Chakotay agreed stonily.

He turned sharply on his heel and walked away, shaken to the core by what he had heard.

  


One glance was all it took to have the Colonel sling his rifle across his back after beaming down. I don't think even you could get into trouble here, Mr Kim, he offered the Ensign cheerfully. This place is about as placid as the Downs on Earth. So if you'll forgive me, Sir. I'll join Mr Neelix's foraging party.

Harry Kim grinned weakly. he agreed. The Colonel often teased him over his 'accidents' during away missions. Not without some cause, it had to be admitted. Whilst the Colonel could hop from tussock to tussock with the assurity of a mountain goat and cling to a shear rock face like a limpet. He, Harry Kim, was always the one that missed and sank into mud, or found the single loose rock, that could bring down a cliff whenever he tried to keep up. When Kim had tried to jibe back at the Colonel's own lack of prowess, they had always rebounded as the Colonel had nodded solemnly in agreement and declared, 'That is why we have you, Mr Kim.' Kim was sure there was a response to that simple agreement, but he had yet to find it.

I'll let you know when the Captain makes her appearance? He offered.

Just send her up to that ridge, the Colonel laughed pointing towards a ridge about a mile from the work site. Tell her if I see her trying to get there, or she doesn't see me coming, she carries my pack home.

I couldn't! Kim spluttered.

She will be upset to find she's lost before she knew the rules because the beach officer bottled out, the Colonel observed. I'll ask Ensign Patel to pass the information on, shall I?

I'll tell her, Kim accepted quickly. 

  


Shouldn't you be regenerating, Seven?

Seven of Nine straightened painfully from the transwarp coil that had been placed on the bench for her to work on before turning to face the worried frown of the Chakotay.

My activities were interrupted, Seven excused. Regeneration would require me to undo the modifications I have made. It would be inefficient.

I also wished to apologise to the Colonel regarding our argument before regeneration, Seven of Nine added quietly.

You and the Colonel arguing! I don't believe it! Chakotay exclaimed in surprise. 

Public arguments between Seven and the Colonel were almost unheard of, even those rarely lasted more than a few minutes and never amounted to more than a couple of sharp words. That there could be one that was potentially still ongoing was astounding. The Chakotay looked on the ex-Borg with renewed interest. Perhaps there was some discord in perfect harmony after all.

We have disagreements, Commander, Seven of Nine chided. We prefer to resolve them quickly.

But you didn't this time, Chakotay prompted.

I wished to join him in his duties on the planet. He refused to accept me, Seven of Nine explained. I believed he was trying to be over protective.

Her eyes cast down at her growing stomach. I was in error. The baby has caused me to be disfunctional three times.

And it is vital you impart this apology before regenerating? Chakotay asked in amusement.

Seven of Nine was adamant in her response. A positive resolution removes an uncertainty and is desirable. Perhaps you should try it with the Captain?

The snipe made Chakotay change the subject quickly. Well as he isn't here. Perhaps you can confirm a rumour I've heard?

I heard the Colonel threatened B'Elanna?

Seven agreed. It was when we were aboard Valoria. Before we were captured. Lieutenant Paris became agitated and wished to attempt an immediate rescue. The Colonel believed it was impossible at that point. 

The point is documented in his report to the Captain, she added in mild surprise.

How could he. They are friends! the dumbfounded Chakotay blurted. The Captain had not shown him the report.

Seven of Nine shrugged as if the question was irrelevant, but relented when Chakotay caught her arm. 

You have often commented that his training has made him not unlike the Borg in many aspects, she said calmly. You are correct. If a drone is found to be a danger to the Collective it is terminated. If the situation dictated such an action necessary, he would terminate somebody under his command. The target would be irrelevant, if it lead to the successful completion of a mission. It is logical and efficient.

And in this case the mission was the safety of Seven of Nine, he suggested sourly, suddenly feeling a lot less safe.

I believe I may have been a secondary factor, Seven admitted. The primary objective was the rescue of Voyager. All others were secondary to that requirement. He risked his life to enable Lieutenant B'Elanna Paris to escape.

Could he have done it? Chakotay asked in desperation. I need to know for the safety of this crew!

The safety of this crew is also his goal, Commander, Seven of Nine opined. I believe he would take measures to protect the greater number from whatever the source of danger, even friends. 

  


The Colonel had not been surprised by the Captains failure to appear during the morning. Nor was he particularly concerned. It gave him the opportunity to ponder undisturbed, as he lay in the pleasant sun, watching the herd of creatures graze in the valley below his ridge top vantage point. They were not unlike antelope or, perhaps, Bison from Earth he decided, if a little larger at, he guessed about 800Kg. The only real difference was a third horn, that stood about 600mm from the centre of their foreheads.

Much of his thought was old ground. His arrival in the Delta Quadrant, Voyager and her crew. His whirlwind romance with Seven of Nine. Its effect upon him, especially now he was about to become a father. It made him think of his future, or distinct lack of it. The probability of his child never knowing his father was all too real. There was too little else he could do, other than stand in front of trouble. Sooner or later his prodigious luck would run out. Destron had proven that to him. Why? Because he had worried about surviving, not trying to extradite himself and his friends from trouble. It had almost resulted in both his execution and Seven of Nine's slavery.

He regarded the gently rolling landscape with more thought, until the thin buzz of a transporter made him glance around.

Better late than never, Ma'am. But beaming here could be regarded as cheating, he observed with a grin as the Captain appeared. Still there is tea in the pot, but you've missed lunch. He nodded affably at a small camp kettle steaming gently over his Cathor sword.

I couldn't get away. B'Elanna has engineering crews working on the transporters, so they aren't fully operational, the Captain excused as she knelt beside the Colonel. What have you been up to all this time?

You didn't want to get away, the Colonel corrected reproachfully. As for me. I've been watching the locals and making plans I will never see come to fruition.

The Captain queried lightly. You had better explain.

The Colonel grinned. Apart from the meat and whatever eats them, this place reminds me of the Cotswolds, he admitted. Rolling pastures, sheltered little valleys even the copse across the mouth of the valley. I was planning to build my farmhouse down there, just off the stream. He pointed into the valley. With an orchard behind, with a press for cider. And a sty and hen house, plus a couple of barns. All built with proper stone. Of course, I'd probably have to make do with thatch for the roof, until I could quarry enough shingles. But even that would come from my own fields of corn.

Then on a beautiful evening like this. I could sit in my garden, arm around my beautiful wife, as my children played around us and say 'I have achieved something in my miserable life. Somewhere to say I belong', he sighed wistfully. I'm fed up with running from place to place, Ma'am. Snatching rest and little comforts where they appear, whilst waiting for the next Fuzzy to have a crack. I want somewhere that is mine.

Sounds idyllic, the Captain agreed with a grin. Do you know anything about farming?

That's where it all falls down of course, the Colonel admitted sadly. I know as much about real agriculture as I do about spaceships. Plus, I wouldn't be happy scattering the first seed until Mrs Nine was ready to hang up her exploring boots. But a chap can dream.

It would be safe and you would be bored, the Captain teased. I don't think you could cope.

Well, scythes are sharp, it is possible to be savaged by sheep and pigs and geese can do some nasty things, the Colonel admitted. But on the whole, I think it would be safe. I'd be prepared to give boredom a chance.

We'll start looking for a suitable place for your farm, the Captain offered brightly.

Don't tease, the Colonel sighed. Voyager is years from home yet, so even if we found somewhere, I would probably never find it again. Besides Mrs Nine won't be happy as a farmers wife for many years yet.

Well perhaps you can discus it before Seven regenerates. It's nice to know you want something from your future, the Captain suggested. Now what were you planning for me?

The Colonel grinned. How about producing some real meat for Mr Neelix's barbecue tomorrow? Then we won't be victim to Leola Root Sausages again? He nodded at the herd steadily grazing 200 metres away. I think we need the cooperation of one of those chaps down there. Perhaps the one closest to the trees. It doesn't look too old and there is no calf that is going to lack a mother.

You want me to go and nag it to death? the Captain suggested in amusement. I haven't got my phasor.

Don't need it, the Colonel grinned, passing her his bolt action rifle.

I've never fired a projectile weapon, the Captain admitted. She took it as if she expected it to explode in her hands, before examining it carefully.

No worries, Ma'am. Rule of thumb, if you can see the eyes, you can kill it. And the 303 is one of the finest weapons ever created for the job. Now lay down comfortable, bring the butt to the shoulder, and support the barrel with your left hand, he instructed. Make sure it is firm against the shoulder, or we'll be looking for a medivac, he grinned at her scowl as she slid into the position ordered. You should find the trigger a comfortable reach for your right index finger and the rest wrap neat around the neck, your thumb sits over the top?

The Captain nodded.

Good. Leave the trigger alone for a minute, he recommended. Look down the sights, line up the points of the screws in the gate with the notch at the barrel. You're aiming for a point between its ears and eyes. 

Don't close your left eye, he chastised as she squinted. Got it?

The Captain nodded carefully, trying not move.

I'll make a rifleman of you yet, the Colonel jested. Now take a deep breath and let it right out again.

She complied unquestioningly.

Now a half breath and hold it. Make sure everything is still aligned and very gently squeeze the trigger. Don't jerk!

The sharp crack and echo as the weapon discharged startled her. She jerked up to try and see the results of her shot through the thin veil of smoke, to be stopped by the Colonel gently resting his foot on her back.

No time for that, he chided. Work the bolt. Lift and pull to eject the case and bring the next one into the spout. Quick, or you won't get another round off.

You won't need it though, he admitted settling down beside her again. It was a good shot. We can collect it in a few minutes, when the rest have settled again. But in the Rifles I'd expect fifteen of those a minute, including reloads.

It can't be done! The Captain protested rubbing her shoulder gently. The recoil had felt like a hammer blow, despite her best efforts to hold the weapon as firmly as the Colonel had recommended.

Nor can driving a ship 70,000 light years across space, or so I'm told, Ma'am, the Colonel opined quietly. I know the first is possible, because I can do it and some of my chaps could do twice that. I'm not so sure about the second at the moment.

The Captain demanded.

Because the Commanding Officer can't make a decision, Ma'am.

It's not a difficult one, the Colonel chided in the face of the Captains openly hostile and questioning glare. Yes or No. There is no 'may be' involved. If you don't make it now, then there is going to be trouble and the you could lose your ship because of it.

Who to. You or Chakotay? The Captain snapped.

Who drives Voyager is of no concern to me, Ma'am. If I trust him I will serve.

Or you will kill him, like you threatened B'Elanna?

Wouldn't be the first, the Colonel agreed. But no, I'm not going to kill anybody for that, it's not in my orders. It won't be Commander Chakotay that takes control either. If the Captain isn't seen to trust him, nobody else will.

He stiffened. What the devil! Oy! That's my dinner! He leapt to his feet and charged down the slope, leaving the Captain confused and hurt.

Cautiously she peered after him. The next moment she was also on her feet, chasing the flying soldier, slapping her communicator as she did so. There were two figures pulling at the carcass of the antelope she had shot fifteen minutes earlier. They glanced in surprise at the charging Colonel, then shambled back into the trees. But it was not their actions that caused her alarm. It was what they were.

Janeway to Voyager! She gasped as she ran after the soldier. I want a security team down here to cover a tactical withdrawal of all landing parties. There are Borg on the planet!

The Colonel was more than halfway to his thieves before they looked up and allowed him to see the Borg accessories clearly. Even then it did not register on his brain until he had cut that distance by half again. Then he realised that apart from the heavy knife, that always sat against his back, he was unarmed. The sword he had removed to make it easier to lay down and the rifle was still with the Captain.

If they had been anybody else, the fact that they were in open flight would have been comforting. That was the goal in charging down the hill, screaming. The Borg, in his experience, were too stupid to run, unless they had another reason. Like gathering more drones.

It prompted him to leap the carcass and continue the chase into the woods, the enemy still 30 metres ahead.

Reality struck him before he had been amidst the trees for more than a few minutes. Forests are not the best of places to track an enemy, especially at full flight and this one was no exception. Thick undergrowth hides your quarry, often for dangerous seconds at a time. Lifting roots, even fallen and rotting trees are always present to trip the unwary and low branches are waiting to blind the chaser as they snap back after being pushed past. All connive to hide worse dangers. He stopped and turned back. Problems with Borg were better settled on his own terms.

The dangers of traps and nature were not factors that passed through Captain Janeway's mind as she also charged into the woods. Only that the Colonel had disappeared and her own pursuit of him and her enemies.

Thus it was that when the smaller of the two Borg erupted from a bush less than three metres in front of her, leapt over a small log and disappeared again through another bush with a crash, the Captain dived after it. Only then did she realise the scale of her error as she found herself falling into a pit formed by a fallen tree. Even that would not have been serious, except as she landed, her foot caught between the remains of giant roots and twisted as she continued to topple forwards onto her face and over the prone figure of the Borg she was chasing. Desperately she flung her arms out to save herself further harm, then it did not matter. Her head caught a knotted root and things went black. 

  


Chakotay had not intended in taking up Llinos Abbott's invitation to help investigate the site she had found. The discussion with Abbott, Seven of Nine's offhand admission and acceptance of the Colonel's actions had rattled him. The fact that Kathryn had not shown him the Colonel's report as she usually did, so that he knew about the accusation against the Colonel and the truth behind it, suggested that there was something in Abbott's words. It had unsettled him. Now he wanted some friendly and sympathetic company, even if it was obsessive Abbott.

She greeted his arrival with a happy smile and an embrace that had him blushing until the tattoo on his forehead almost vanished.

I'm so glad you came! She laughed. I was right. There was a settlement here. But we can't agree if it was Iron Age or Bronze. I've found some clinker, but it carries traces of everything. The tri-corders show what may have been a wooden defensive wall around an earth embankment. And the footings for huts.

It's usually easier to find a burial mound, Chakotay recommended. Most of these old cultures, like my own people, believed in some form of reincarnation. So they create tombs for their dead and fill them with things that may be of benefit in the afterlife. Still I'll have a look at what you've got.

It was about an hour later that the Captains warning came through to him, along with the Colonels admission that he had lost the Captain and wanted a search team and the advice that it would be an hour before a security team could be prepared. He took a glance around at the worried faces that surrounded him and came to his own decision. 

Talking to him or not, the Captain was in trouble and he had a team that could help. Unlike most of the landing parties, ostensibly involved in collecting food, this one had come down with the intention of staying a couple of days. Consequently they had arrived with provisions and phasors.

Voyager, where is the Colonel? he demanded. Transport us to him.

I don't want to become a Borg for her! Abbott hissed in alarm. And we aren't security! Let the Colonel do it!

Further conversation was rendered pointless as the transporter was activated.

  


Where are they? Chakotay demanded as he and his worried party materialised beside the Colonel. He was kneeling over the fallen antelope and watching the woods suspiciously.

She followed them in there, he said, waving the general direction. But nobody has come out.

So we go in? Chakotay asked.

We can't go in there! Ensign Abbott squeaked in horror. It could hide a cube full of Borg! We wouldn't stand a chance!

Colonel glared at her.

When the Colonel needs tactical advice from you Ensign, he'll ask, Chakotay snapped angrily.

But he wants you to go and look for the Captain, Abbott wailed in despair. You will get killed!

As it is I agree with you on every count except one, Ensign, the Colonel admitted. In there every shadow can hide an enemy. It can even catch out old timers like me. It is not the place for amateurs. So I'm not intending to take you. If you want something to do then keep an eye on this. He kicked the carcass at his feet.

Chakotay asked cautiously.

I don't know why, Sir. But it was worth them trying to take it, even though they knew somebody else had killed it. If they think it is unprotected they'll try again.

Chakotay looked at the body dubiously. And if they don't? He could see no reason for the Borg wanting an antelope, dead or otherwise. 

Given the chance, they'll come, the Colonel asserted. When they do, you can follow them. I suggest you watch from the ridge.

Now I have an hour before it gets too dark to see properly, he continued. I can use that to find where the Captain went. Sir! The Colonel snapped a salute, turned for the forest.

For a moment Chakotay watched the Colonel march away, lost with his concerns of inadequacy.

Then, "Colonel, wait. I'm coming with you," he called. "I don't want you to forget what we are after. The return of the Captain."

"I know my duty, Sir!" The Colonel bridled at the implied criticism. "I'm not intending to cut a bloody swathe, unless the Borg object violently. Still I'm sure the Captain will be pleased to see you and I daresay you can find her trail quicker than I."

Finding the Captains trail into the woods took them slightly less than thirty minutes, then barely another ten to follow it to where she had fallen.

Chakotay's father had taught him to track prey as a child in the tribal homelands. There it had been a patient search for tell tale signs. The signs of rapid transit here were easier to follow than those of small animals, yet Chakotay was still surprised that the Colonel barely glanced at them after he had found the first few, to be able to lead them forward at a smart pace. Whatever the reason for the Colonel's acceptance for his presence it was not as base as tracking the Captain. 

"Home turf. Remember?" The Colonel pointed out easily as they breasted the edge of the hollow in which the Captain had fallen. "If you will forgive me. I'll have a poke around in here. If the Captain went over that tree trunk as fast as it looked, then I doubt she walked out of this hole."

Chakotay was less than inclined to argue as he watched the Colonel slide in.

The Colonel's discarded rifle was immediately obvious amidst the mess of broken roots that festooned the bottom and he picked it up and examined it carefully, before commencing a more thorough search. 

Eventually he looked up. I'd say the Captain is alive, Sir, he reported quietly, holding up a scrap of cloth to examine. There was a Borg here as well and both were hurt. There was no struggle. I reckon both have been carried out.

And you are going to tell us who they were and where they went? Chakotay asked dryly.

A blindman can follow whoever took them, the Colonel agreed. Whoever he was, he was built like a tank. He didn't pass through bushes, he flattened them.

So you have your answer, what now?

The Colonel thought for a moment, then looked up at the gathering darkness. I'm going to follow the trail in the dark, he said thoughtfully. You're welcome to come, or not, as you wish. But I'm not waiting for heavy artillery from the ship.

"I'm coming," Chakotay declared without hurriedly.

The Colonel looked at him sharply. "The Captain will be safe, Sir!" He assured the Commander carefully. "This isn't your field of work and it could be dangerous for the second in command of the ship if we go wrong."

"What are you suggesting, Colonel?" Chakotay demanded. "That Kathryn might be dead?"

"I'm thinking worse than that, Sir," the Colonel refuted solemnly. "The Borg took her. The only reason to do that is if her injuries were repairable. It means they may have converted her by now."

"You would kill her!" Chakotay exclaimed in alarm.

"What do you think?"

Not waiting for an answer the Colonel set off down the new trail. Chakotay put an answer to the question in his mind and set off after him at the run.

The trail ended in a small clearing at the base of a cliff. Both men ducked behind the bushes as they peered out. Less than fifty metres away from their hiding place stood the open maw of a cave. In its opening stood two Borg drones.

The Colonel whistled under his breath. "The one on the left is the size of a house! Must be more than two yards tall and nearly that wide!"

"Well we can't leave Kathryn there!" Chakotay protested, suddenly impatient.

The Colonel examined the larger Borg carefully. "I think the big chap is something akin to Borg heavy armour," he muttered. "Look. His armour panels must be over an inch thick, you can see the jointing. I doubt I can take him out without armour piercing rounds and I haven't got any. Can't Voyager locate her and beam her away now we know where she is?" The Colonel questioned.

Chakotay shook his head. "They won't be able to focus on her without a communicator to identify her."

The Colonel sighed. "Give me a couple of minutes. I'll try and lead those two away before trying to take them out. It will give you a chance to get in.

"With that he thrust himself out from behind the bush and ran towards the two drones. Reaching the largest, he slapped it hard on the shoulder above the articulated arm.

"Tig. You're it!" He shouted loudly as he barrelled away again.

The sound of a crash behind him had him looking over his shoulder. What he saw brought him up short.

Far from attempting to give chase, the drone, with the help of his companion, was attempting to pick up its arm from the floor where it had fallen.

At something of a loss for anything else to do, the Colonel retraced his steps and clubbed both soundly behind the ears with the butt of his rifle. Then shrugged in the direction of Chakotay, before disappearing into the tunnel.

  


Captain Janeway awoke to a white hot pain from her left leg and the sound of whimpering. It took several seconds of careful consideration before she realised the whimperings were not just hers. It gave her the confidence to open her eyes to examine the position she was in.

She found herself laying on a primitive metal table. A feeble yellow light burned above her, casting dark shadows preventing her seeing more than a few metres in any direction. Beside her sat a second table, similarly lit, bearing the face down body of a Borg drone, she guessed it was the one she fell upon. A second drone was attempting to resecure its back plate. The panel was distorted and kept springing away as it was pressed down. The drone was also having a problem with a mechanical arm that simply refused to grip the wayward plate.

All of a sudden Borgs did not seem so threatening anymore.

The second drone was probably a female humanoid, the Captain decided, she could see the swell of the breast plate, about the only clue as to the sex and origin of any Borg drone. After that she was stuck, most facial features were hidden behind the implants and metallic skullcap.

The drone on the table moaned in again in pain as the plate was pressed down harder until with a click the it latched into place.

That small victory accomplished, the repairing drone turned to face the Captain. Your designation?

For a moment Captain Janeway was nonplussed. She would have been certain her visage would have been burnt irrevocably onto the memory banks of every Borg drone in the Delta Quadrant, along with a couple of others, with or without Unimatrix One. 

Captain Kathryn Janeway, she admitted. Of the Federation Starship Voyager. She groaned loudly as she tried to move and a bolt of pain shot up through her leg. 

You will not move, the drone scolded, showing no signs of recognising the name. There is a compound fracture to your lower leg. It has not been sufficiently repaired for movement.

She added as the Captain managed to prop herself upon her elbows.

Who are you? The Captain demanded through gritted teeth. Why am I here?

My designation is tactical repair drone fourteen of twenty-eight. You are here for repair.

The answer served only to elevate the Captain's growing confusion and she sank back onto the table to consider things more carefully.

She knew that the Borg's central Unimatrix had been destroyed, she had been there. But she also knew there were other Unimatrices, it was foolish to think that all Borg life had been destroyed. That was fine, she decided. Now the going was trickier. She was on a planet populated by damaged Borg drones. Voyager had not detected them, which meant they were masking their presence, who from she did not know. They had attempted to steal an antelope, that she had shot. The reason for that mystified her as much as her capture and non-assimilation. Instead they had made an attempt to treat her injuries. Not particularly well perhaps, she decided looking down towards the reddened bandages. It looked like one of the Colonel's field lash ups. But it still did not make sense. Nor did the attempt to repair a badly damaged drone, the Borg normally terminated such things.

Weakened by her injuries, she gave up and hoped something would happen to explain the situation for her.

Captain Janeway's wish came true a few minutes later as a third Borg appeared.

This one was also female and had the air of somebody who at least thought she was in command and knew what was happening. There was something oddly familiar about her one natural eye as well the Captain noted. It looked very human.

You will be of assistance! The new Borg demanded without preamble. Failure to comply will result in your assimilation.

I very much doubt it, the Captain responded, keeping her tone calm. What is your designation?

The new arrival ignored the question. You will return us to the Collective. Your crew will comply, or you will be assimilated.

A thin dawn of light gleamed in the Captain's befuddled mind. 

She grasped it with both hands. I don't think you can assimilate me, she said slowly. If you could, you would have, then dealt with my crew and ship. You can't even repair your own damage can you?

Captain Janeway desperately wished she could stand and face this drone eye to implant as it obviously wavered. 

I think the person in real trouble is not me, it's you! She continued remorselessly. How many drones have you got? A dozen? It can't be more, or we would have detected you. It won't be enough when my crew finds us. We destroyed Unimatrix Zero-One!

Her final declaration was climaxed by a sharp crack that reverberated around the room. There was only one thing in the Captain's experience that made a sound like that.

As the sound receded, it was followed by an equally sharp voice. Stand back, or be perforated!

The welcome tones of the Colonel's bark allowed the Captain to relax a little and watch the drone standing over her with some pity, as she glanced around in alarm.

13 of 28. Assistance!

Is that the rude one at the entrance of these caves that tried to push me away, the little one with a spike, or the one built like a truck? The Colonel demanded entering the room, Chakotay beside him. The first I shot, the second had its ears boxed and the arm fell off the third. Now, please, stand away from Captain Janeway.

In a desperate act of defiance the drone gripped the Captains head and held her fist threateningly close to her throat. I will assimilate the female.

The Colonel stopped his advance and considered the proposition. If you are in anything like the condition of the others I rather doubt it. But I suppose it is possible? He reasoned quietly. But how long do you want to maintain the impasse? You can't move the Captain while holding her head, not that you've anywhere to go. The others aren't in a condition to help. And I think I've got a lot more patience.

He started moving forward again.

The drone watched him uncertainly, until her threatening fist was caught by his hand.

For a brief moment she struggled as the arm was inexorably twisted back and away.

As I suspected, the Colonel muttered. You are all done in. I suggest surrender, Ma'am? 

The Borg do not surrender, they conquer!

When you out number the enemy and they are as technology dependent as you, perhaps, the Colonel agreed. But you don't and I'm not. I'm just plain nasty.

For twenty seconds the drone and soldier glared at each other, the Colonel's teeth bared.

My designation is one of three Secondary Adjunct Unimatrix 01. Your intentions? The drone relented, accepting the truth.

Not my call, Ma'am. The Colonel nodded towards the Captain. Your prisoners, Ma'am? If you'll permit. I'll have a look at your leg. 

Once again the Captain found herself surprised by the Colonels deference and hesitated as she strove to take control. She made some time for herself by asking, Can they survive here?

Not a snowball in Hell's chance, Ma'am, the Colonel opined, cutting away bloody bandages.

Well, One of Three, Captain Janeway said slowly. I am not returning you to the Borg. I think they would only terminate you anyhow. But we can help you. We can make you individuals again. Then you can return to your people. You are human, we can take you home?

One of Three announced. We do not wish to be individuals! We wish to return to the Borg!

Seven of Nine thought the same when we released her from the Collective, the Captain reasoned. I'm sure she doesn't think the same now. Perhaps you could ask her?

The Captain glanced at both Chakotay and the Colonel for support as he finished to examining her injuries.

It's their choice, Ma'am, the Colonel dismissed them. I give 'em a month, before they are too weak to be worried. Now I think we had better get you out of here and into the daylight so Voyager can pick you up. They tried to set it, but with all the expertise of a thirteen week initiation failure. The Doctor will have to fix this mess. At least he can't blame me this time. Now lay still. Commander, care to grab the end of the table? 

They grabbed the end of the table and started to drag it towards the door.

You can help, he offered to One of Three. You haven't won, but you haven't lost anything either. Yet!

The tone, mixing threat with command, persuaded the drone to grip the table beside him and join him in dragging the table away.

A few minutes later the Captain found herself under a starlit sky, Chakotay holding her hand. You can still come with us? She offered to One of Three. We know how to dismantle most of the Borg technology. And we can repair the other parts. You are human. We can take you back to the Federation with us!

Unacceptable. We are Borg!

Voyager. Beam the Captain and Commander to sickbay, the Colonel muttered into his intercom.

Where are you going? The Captain demanded as he stepped back.

Still got a few things to sort out, Ma'am. Like a barbecue, he apologised. I'll grab a lift from whoever is guarding the ridge.

He turned and grabbed One of Three by an arm as the others beamed away. Now Miss. We will be here for another day or two. If I see one of you chaps within 800 yards of a Voyager landing party this little truce will be over.

You intention is our destruction? One of Three clarified.

You people are stupid enough to do that on your own, the Colonel assured her. Good Night, Ma'am! 

He marched away into the darkness.

  


The Captain materialised on a sickbay bed, Chakotay still holding her hand. Only now, in the strong lighting, did he realise how pale she was.

"I want us away from here," she demanded weakly. "Before more Borg appear."

"I'll see to it," Chakotay promised, not moving. Then watched in alarm as she descended into unconsciousness.

"Who treated this leg?" The Doctor demanded busily scanning the offending leg. "It's bad even by that barbarian's standards."

"The Borg," Chakotay admitted.

"Five breaks and a few slivers. This is going to take some time and she has lost a lot of blood," the Doctor grunted, his hand searching out a medi-spray and regenerator. "I'll have to reset it piece by piece. You can go."

"I'll wait," Chakotay insisted. "We can't leave until the Colonel has returned."

  


Seven of Nine activated the transporter to return her spouse to the ship. His face broke into a smile as he recognised her portly figure behind the console. 

"Lieutenant Colonel Samuels reporting all present and correct, Ma'am. Permission to come aboard?" He asked brightly, stepping forward and gathering her in his arms to impart a kiss. He offered a small bouquet of woodland flowers he had gathered whilst he had been on the planet.

"You are late," Seven of Nine declared, ignoring the peace offering. "The Captain has ordered the Commander to leave."

"I don't see why," the Colonel said. "The chaps down there aren't a problem."

Seven looked at him questioningly. She trusted her husbands opinions on most things. Even to the extent of accepting his belief that the Borg's ambitions had been set back by more than a decade. But the news that there were Borg on the planet and that the Captain had disappeared, believed kidnapped by them had awoken some of her worst fears. She would never accept that the Borg were no longer a danger. "They are Borg," she said simply. "They are always a danger."

"Not that crowd," the Colonel insisted. "They are as 'Borgified' as you. Just they haven't learnt to accept it yet. Come on. We'll see if we can't stop the Commander from getting too carried away."

  


"Kathryn's orders were explicit," Chakotay observed to the small gathering of officers in the Conference Room. "We are to break orbit and get away before a Borg cube arrives. Remember they threatened Kathryn!"

"So we limp away from a minor nuisance, because we are afraid of what the nuisance was," the Colonel argued. "Face it, Sir. The Borg down there aren't even surviving. Their threat was even more empty than Mr Neelix's 'Compliments to the Chef' book. Their Collective is all but destroyed. Even if it weren't they don't know where they are because they are making no transmissions. It looks more like they are in hiding than actively trying to return to the Collective."

"But they tried to force Kathryn to return them to the Collective."

"Yes they did," the Colonel admitted. "But wouldn't you try and take advantage, if you were in their position and a possible solution fell in your lap? They have just found that the Galaxy is a big and lonely place. They are scared and tried to find a way back to what they knew. Isn't that what we are doing? You can hardly hold that against them."

There are a lot of people on edge, Borg being present won't help them, Neelix pointed out.

I'll deal with them, if they become a nuisance again, the Colonel promised.

This has been our first chance of relaxation for some months, Kim volunteered.

And we are no where near completing repairs, B'Elanna put in.

The Captain did offer them salvation, Sir. Shouldn't we give them a chance to consider? The Colonel suggested.

Chakotay held up a hand to stem the enthusiasm.

Seven, are there any indications of transmissions to or from the Borg? He asked seeking some voice of reason.

Seven of Nine admitted.

B'Elanna, how long do you need to complete the repairs we can't do underway?

Twenty-four hours.

And you think you can protect us from the Borg? He directed the question squarely at the Colonel.

The Colonel looked offended. A kid with a water pistol could take them out, Sir. You saw the state they are in.

Very well. We will remain, unless the Captain demands otherwise, or they try to threaten us again, Chakotay agreed. 

Mr Neelix, a moment, please, Sir, the Colonel called chasing after the Talaxian as they traipsed out of the room.

How are you with spit roasts? The Colonel enquired. The Captain bagged a nice antelope earlier. If I gut it, can you cook it? We could have a shore-side party and barbecue tomorrow night?

Well we found those herbs. Perhaps mixed with a little honey and fruit juice, Neelix pondered, then brightened. You can manage wood for a fire as well?

  


One of Three watched the activities of the Voyager crew from the ridge above their landing site with mixed feelings, most of them very un-Borg in nature. 

When they had abandoned their scout ship six months previously there had been fifty drones. Conventional wisdom had them believing that a Borg vessel would recover them within a few days. They had been badly mistaken. Instead, barely had the rescue beacon been setup, then they had been attacked by unknown ships. Thirty drones had been terminated in that air attack. What little they had salvaged from the ship in the way of parts and energy cells had been all but destroyed as well. From then they had been on their own, just twenty drones from a ship of 500. It was worse than that. With the loss of the beacon, all contact with the Collective and each other had been lost. It was twenty individual drones from the collective thoughts of countless millions. The mind is a strange and lonely place when you suddenly finds it exists inside of you. 

Eight drones had been unable to withstand the onslaught of silence and had simply deactivated themselves. Five others had perished as their electro-mechanical systems, without continuous maintenance, had failed and the last tactical drone had been gored by one of the ruminant's. The remaining six drones did not have the skills to hunt the flighty and savage creatures that infested the planet, so they had been reduced to scavenging.

It had been this need for food that had led 13 of 28 and Seven of Seven to attempt to take the shot antelope. Why 13 of 28 had retrieved the earth woman when he had found her, she was not certain. But it had been One of Three's desire to be invisible to herself again and not be party to the thoughts that she knew were hers, that had made her attempt to intimidate the captive to return them to the collective.

Surrendering to the green human had been the result of another desire. One that had nothing to do with being a Borg. The desire to live. 

If she was still in communication with the Collective, she thought sourly, she would have gathered her remaining drones and attempted to assimilate the humans below. They would only have to create a couple before their replacements shields adapted to the humans weapons. Then things would have progressed automatically, despite the green clad human.

As she watched the object of her thoughts appeared, his arm linked with a female. He looked in her direction and waved his free arm at her, before settling upon a grass knoll.

One of Three ignored the seemingly friendly gesture. Instead she concentrated on the female. There was something familiar about her. Then she realised what it was. The implant around her eye, the mesh that covered her left hand. It was a Borg. But not like any One of Three had witnessed. The expanding midriff, barely hidden by the loose fitting smock, could only mean it was pregnant. An impossible feat for a drone.

From behind her 14 of 28 limped up, forcing One of Three to drag her attention away from the couple below. 

Seven of Seven is malfunctioning, 14 of 28 reported blandly. The Cardiovascular Node must be replaced for continued functioning.

Two of Seven was of the same age. The unit from her will be adequate, One of Three suggested. 

I do not have the motor control to replace the unit, 14 of 28 observed. I will require assistance.

One of Three took a lingering look at the humans below. The humans below could repair Seven of Seven, she declared wistfully.

We are not permitted within 800 Metres, 14 of 28 reminded her. What are they doing?

Building a wooden cairn. I believe they may be attempting to create a fire to cook the ruminant they killed. One of Three turned away firmly. We will attempt repair.

The Captain awoke slowly to find Chakotay sat beside her bed.

"Have you been waiting for me?" She asked dreamily. "How long have I been out?"

Yes I have. And you've been out twenty hours, Chakotay grinned, offering her a cup.

She grasped the cup firmly. And no sign of any Borg ships? She asked, sipping at the contents and smacked her lips contentedly at the coffee.

Chakotay admitted truthfully.

Repairs complete?

Not yet, again a truthful answer.

Well we have avoided them again. I'm sorry we didn't get the break we needed, but there will be other planets, the Captain sighed.

Chakotay hesitated before replying, he was not good at evasive answers. "We are making the best of things," he managed. "Actually Neelix is waiting for you so he can get things underway. He thinks as you killed it, you should have the first taste. If you are upto it?"

Killed it? The Captain asked in confusion, then her smile returned as she remembered. The Colonel rescued the antelope? Well I suppose I ought to end the waiting.

Chakotay offered her an arm as she stood. The Colonel gets away with it, he suggested.

For a moment she was tempted to ignore it, then grinned and accepted. 

Where are we going? The Captain asked uncertainly as Chakotay ushered her into the Transporter Room.

Chakotay took a deep breath. We didn't leave, he admitted and waited for the explosion.

It was not as severe as he expected.

I distinctly recall saying break orbit, the Captain scolded. Why didn't you?

B'Elanna needed the minerals to complete repairs. The Colonel promised to keep the landing site safe. Another couple of hours won't make a big difference.

I'll deal with you both later, she threatened, taking her position on the pad. Now I'd better get my crew back.

  


Neelix was effervescent in his greeting of the Captain when she materialised. Captain it is so good to see you up and about. We were almost at the point of starting without you. But it would not be the same. Would you care to start the fire? It's only ceremonial I'm afraid. I've been cooking most of the day. But it's the feel of it, he finished.

You expect me to rub two sticks together? the Captain challenged buoyed along by the Talaxians efficacious good humour.

Neelix laughed and offered her a phasor, which she took and fired into the pile of wood that had been set.

I'm so glad you are letting us have this party, Neelix whispered as Captain Janeway accepts her plate. See how happy the crew are. Even Crewman Ioraith is smiling! Now help yourself to salad and meat.

But where is the architect of this? She started, then spotted Seven of Nine loading a tray. I know you are eating for two, but isn't that a little excessive, Seven?

Seven of Nine gave her a quizzical stare as she loaded salad. The food is not for me. The Colonel wishes to sample Mr Neelix's cooking. He is still on duty.

Oh. I thought he wanted this party more than most of us?

He is satisfied when he is on a planet. The reason is irrelevant, Seven of Nine observed pragmatically, adding two mugs of tea to the tray.

Well let me take the tray and I'll come and join you, the Captain suggested as Seven of Nine, satisfied with her collection started to limp away.

  


Up and about what, Ma'am? The Colonel greeted her jovially. Pleased to report the locals are behaving themselves.

What would you have done if the Borg had turned up with a cube? The Captain demanded trying to maintain a degree of sternness in the face of so much good humour.

Gone and shot another couple of the antelope. But they would have to make do with it microwaved, Ma'am.

Okay, so it was not likely, the Captain accepted relaxing a little. But I still wanted us to leave.

If you still wanted that, we would do so, Ma'am. The Borg on this planet aren't dangerous as such. And you offered to be the Good Samaritan, but didn't give them a chance to accept. 

They seemed of pretty firm mind to me, the Captain observed.

The Colonel nodded towards the silhouette of the ridge. Miss One of Three has spent most of the day up there, Ma'am, the Colonel said quietly. I think she is wondering if it was such a good idea, to refuse. She knows a lot of things. Unfortunately they aren't the things it is good to know. 

The Colonel offered a weak grin and explanation to the Captains puzzled look. Mrs Nine told me once that being cut off from the Collective terrified her. Yet she had you and one hundred fifty people floating around to help her get over it. They haven't got that here. 

So you are expecting them to beg to be transported? The Captain challenged

Not beg, the Colonel assured her. They are much too proud to do that. But perhaps accept an invitation. If it were offered again?

You are making the Captain's mistake. Believing that all people wish to be saved, Seven of Nine argued stoutly.

I'm a soldier, was the Colonel's simple reply. I'm expected to be mans best friend at breakfast, rip his head off at lunch and save his life at teatime. The Captain wanted to rescue them. It's enough, if she still wants?

  


One of Three and 14 of 28 were struggling. They had succeeded in removing the chest plate from Seven of Seven, no great dexterity was required for that operation. 

The problem came from the need to remove the vascular control node. Repairs of this nature were usually carried out by specialist drones, equipped with tools designed to hold and twist the small units that controlled Borg physiology, whilst releasing various catches. The small band of Borg survivors had included such a drone. It had been one of the ones that had terminated itself. It left One of Three and her assistant the problem of using a multi-tooled limb that was not theirs, a problem compounded by the fact that their own manipulators were struggling to grasp the limb, let alone the spare control device they intended to use.

After thirty minutes of trying to gain control of their wayward limbs, One of Three stood back. "We are too badly damaged to complete the necessary repair."

"The unit will perish," 14 of 28 accepted. "Our level of damage means it is unlikely we will be able to repair other units. We will also perish. I do not wish to perish."

"We are Borg. The survival of individuals is of no importance to the Collective," One of Three corrected.

"We are no longer part of the Collective. Contact has ceased. We cannot survive. Therefore we will perish," 14 of 28 reminded. "I do not wish to perish."

It came as a grim shock to One of Three to realise that other drones were fighting simillar thoughts and fears to her own. There was some comfort in that knowledge. 

"I, also, do not wish to perish," she admitted. "Have 13 of 28 pick this unit up, then collect the remaining drones. They are to remain upon the ridge above the humans camp," she ordered. "Perhaps the humans will repair this unit for us?"

Silently the oversized heavy drone appeared and scooped the damaged Seven of Seven from the table into arthritic arms and followed One of Three. She had, she realised, made the largest mistake of her Borg career.

  


Harry Kim had taken the opportunity offered by approaching darkness to attempt to renew his acquaintance with Jenny Delaney. He was, to his surprise, having more success than he had achieved in some months. The young Stellar Cartographer accepting his suggestion to leave the noise and glare of the party and enjoy the glow of the stars.

They were now sitting amongst long grass, admiring the tiny pin-pricks that showed against the night sky. The fact they were now 400 Metres ahead of the Colonel's guard station did not seem important.

"You know, ancient civilisations used to create pictures from the stars in the sky?" Jenny offered whimsically.

"Don't see how," Kim opined. "I never saw the meanings in the constellations at home."

"You have to apply a little imagination, silly!" Jenny giggled. "Megan and I used to do it as kids. For instance I can see Seven in that group." She waved a finger expansively at a pattern of some 12 stars above them.

"How?" Kim challenged.

"Look!" She exclaimed in exasperation. "Give me that PADD you have in your pocket and I'll show you."

She snatched the device from him and started to draw.

We have twelve stars in this pattern, she explained, making points on the small screen. All we do is join them with a little improvisation!

Harry Kim leaned closer to look as Jenny produced a small caricature of Seven of Nine, standing hands behind her back. Of course that B2 star cluster there helps, she added, pointing at a small gathering of three stars where Sevens face was, otherwise it would be the Colonel. Have you ever noticed they stand exactly alike?

Kim laughed. Are there any stars we can use to show him? How about those? He picked out another seven stars.

Jenny set to work with a will and Kim craned closer to watch. Her perfume began to assail his nostrils, it was a light sweet scent. Along with the romantic moonlight and warm breeze it formed an intoxicating blend. He settled closer still, plucking up the courage to risk a kiss...

There was a sharp noise of metal on metal, making both look up sharply.

Less than twenty metres away, moving towards them, were the silhouettes of two Borg drones.

Run for it! Harry Kim whispered after a moments hesitation.

They ran, ignoring the shout from the two Borg, Kim angling them towards where he hoped the Colonel would be.

He was rewarded by a sharp. Halt! Who goes there?

There are Borg after us! Harry Kim screamed charging on.

British soldier. Halt, or I shoot! The second challenge rang out.

They ignored it.

There was a crash and Kim felt the bullet whizz past his face. He dived to the ground, dragging Jenny with him. He's mad! Kim hissed.

Identify yourself! 

The challenge rang out for the third and, Kim suspected, the final time. Ensigns Harry Kim and Jenny Delaney! There are Borg in the valley, Colonel!

Rise and approach for identification. Hands on heads. 

The Colonel was obviously not going to be swayed by important problems.

Nervously they rose and approached the direction of the shouted commands, not able to see the issuer. 

Pass. Friend, the much quieter command issued from behind made them jump and spin around.

The Colonel was kneeling in the grass, with Seven of Nine beside him.

Next time, Ensign, I recommend when somebody challenges, you do as they say. It might save you being perforated. There are a lot more nervous guards than me, he chastised. Now about these Borg. How many, where?

Over there. Perhaps 400 metres. Two of them, Jenny gasped waving in the direction they had come from.

Thank you, Ensign. Now you two stay here and explain what happened to the others when they arrive. I'll see if I can find your Borg, the Colonel saluted them and disappeared.

He almost shot me! Kim complained loudly as the Captain, Chakotay and three security guards arrived.

He did not, Seven of Nine retorted. The Colonel's marksmanship is not in question. Your identity was.

What were you doing beyond the camp anyhow? Chakotay demanded.

Never mind, the Captain declared as Harry and Jenny flushed. Where is the Colonel?

He went to track the two Borg Ensign Delaney reported, Seven of Nine said. We should wait here until he returns. I have detected both groups on my tricorder. They will intercept in a 2.5 minutes.

  


Both One of Three and 13 of 28 stopped short in alarm when the two Starfleet personnel had broken cover and run from infront of them. After the display the previous day by the three humans, One of Three had until then been certain that humans were not afraid of the Borg. It left her uncertain as to what to do next.

They stood there for several minutes listening to the shouted challenges and the gun shot. It suggested that they would not be well received. She turned and took several steps back the way she had come before she was brought up short again.

Is there a reason for breaking our agreement, Ma'am?

One of Three turned slowly, looking for the source of the voice. 

Please stand still, Ma'am. I can assure you my hearing is good enough for me to hear what you say.

We wish assistance, One of Three declared. The juvenile unit Seven of Seven is dis-functional. We are unable to replace the component.

Place it on the ground and step away, please, Ma'am. I'll take a look.

13 of 28 laid the body on the floor as instructed, they stepped away as ordered to allow the Colonel to examine the casualty. It certainly looked ill, he accepted. But drones always did.

The Cardiovascular Node requires replacing, One of Three called helpfully, seeing the soldier do physical checks for heartbeat and breathing. The Borg do not 'breath' in a fashion you will detect manually.

Glad you told me that, the Colonel said. I was about to push a needle through its nose to see if it would wake up. Very well. You can pick it up. You will walk not more than five yards infront of me and do exactly as you are told, or we could all end up dead.

The Colonel was unsurprised to hear Chakotay challenge their approach.

Lieutenant-Colonel Alan Samuels, 60th Rifles, plus friends, he answered, then whispered to One of Three. If you would put your hands in the air, it is easier to see if you are about to do something you'll regret. I'll excuse the big chap for the time being.

One of Three, Captain greeted the drone warily. Why are you here?

With your permission, Ma'am. I invited them, the Colonel intercepted quickly. They have a poorly youngster. I thought perhaps you would let the Doctor and Lieutenant Paris try and treat him?

Take it to the ship, the Captain nodded. What about the others?

Your call, Ma'am, the Colonel reminded her. 

The Captain grinned wryly. Perhaps they can join the party?

There are proteins? 13 of 28 rumbled.

There are proteins, the Captain assured him.

One of Three?

I will attend, One of Three accepted slowly. You will not require your weapons. We intend you no harm.

The Borg have a bad reputation, the Captain pointed out. You will remain under close guard. Where are the rest of your people?

They are observing your actions.

They can come later, the Captain accepted. After you.

  


B'Elanna Paris was upset. We have been fighting and running from these people for seven years. Yet every time we come across an injured one, the Captain wants to repair it! She fumed. And you are even worse! She turned the full force of her irritation upon the Colonel. A few months ago you stormed into the Unimatrix wanting to kill everything. Now you want me to repair one!

And you would like it to die? The Colonel suggested softly. A few months ago, I went to war with a powerful enemy that would give no quarter. The only rule was, 'win at all costs'. The circumstances have changed now. These drones aren't a threat. I thought you people were better than that, Lieutenant, simply wanting revenge. Better than me as well, if it comes to that. In the end I just do as I'm told, right or wrong. Still, if it makes you uncomfortable. Show me which way up this maggot that needs to be replaced goes and I'll help the Doctor?

No you won't! She snapped. I'll do it. But if it springs up and tries to assimilate me..

I'll kill it, the Colonel interrupted. Shall we get on?

  


How long have you been here and why? Captain Janeway asked of One of Three, still concerned over the possibility of a Borg ship arriving to reclaim their own.

Six of your months. Our vessel was caught in a level 12 ion storm and rendered unrepairable. We abandoned the vessel.

A level 12 storm would render a scout ship helpless, Seven of Nine affirmed at the Captains questioning glance.

How many are there of you? Captain Janeway continued.

And you thought you could assimilate a Starship with that? Chakotay asked incredulously.

You have observed the Borg have a reputation. It would be sufficient, One of Three admitted. Presenting your vessel for assimilation may have prevented us from being terminated. Your reactions were not as predicted.

And now?

One of Three considered the question. We do not wish to be terminated, she said.

Neelix bustled up. The food is to your liking? He asked One of Three with concern. I know Seven is not keen on too much spice normally. He had taken the arrival of the two Borg drones with remarkable aplomb, certainly in comparison to the crews studied nervousness, and had selected small amounts of good cuts of meat and vegetables but had omitted the sauces he had prepared.

The food is adequate, One of Three accepted. I do not have experience with consuming nutrients in this fashion. It sounded like an apology.

You must have at some point, Chakotay observed. You are human.

Yes. When were you assimilated? The Captain asked in morbid curiosity, taking a sip at her drink.

Stardate 32066.7.

Captain Janeway choked as if her synthol had suddenly gained bones. She risked a glance at Seven of Nine out the corner of her eye as she coughed. The revelation had not gone unmissed by her either. A distinct look of alarm passed over her alabaster features before she turned and stalked away.

One of Three watched on in mild puzzlement.

There was only one Federation vessel that went missing on, or about, that date, the Captain croaked, struggling to regain her composure. A small research vessel, named 'Raven'. We know because we had cause to research it very carefully. There were three people aboard. Doctors Erin and Magnus Hansen and their daughter Annaka.

Your point, Captain Janeway?

We know what happened to all three, the Captain said slowly, they were assimilated. I know the fate of two of them. Magnus was terminated by Colonel Samuels. Annaka is now Seven of Nine. That leaves you. Doctor Erin Hansen.

The pregnant drone is my offspring? One of Three queried uncertainly. Drones are not capable of pregnancy.

Seven is your daughter and she is not a drone anymore. Unless you count Colonel Samuels, then I'm not sure who is who's drone, the Captain grinned. We removed most of her implants and stabilised a few others.

Colonel Samuels is the tactical unit that threatened us? One of Three queried, confused by the information coming her way. 

Captain Janeway nodded.

He is also the breeding unit?

We call them husband and wife, the Captain corrected her gently. But yes.

I have no recollection of life before becoming Borg. The data is confusing, One of Three confessed.

It will come back. In time. My offer still stands. We can take you with us, even back to Earth? Captain Janeway ventured.

I will consider the invitation.

  


Seven of Nine stood as far from the party as she felt safe. Breathing hard, she gazed unseeingly into the night as images of that fateful last day aboard Raven played in her mind.

It had been a happy day, she remembered, her parents had finally accepted that they needed to refuel. That meant they would stop chasing the cube that had spent so long on the view screen. The little golden haired girl hoped it meant that they had finished and would soon be going home. Papa would be famous for a while. That would mean they would have to stay in one place for a while, with people! Perhaps they would have time to play with her as well!

Then they had been spotted. 

For fifty minutes her parents had screamed at each other as they had tried to find a way to elude their erstwhile subjects of study and she had cried in sympathy, all the while the age old and terrifying litany, 'We are the Borg. Your cultural and technological distinctiveness will be added to the Collective. Resistance is futile,' played until the panels rattled. Then the Borg had appeared. Her parents had not even tried to resist or scream. Even when the assimilation leads were attached to their throats. Annaka had seen her mothers eyes open so wide that she was sure they would fall out when she was assimilated, but she still did not scream.

Annaka had screamed though. Fit to bring the control room ceiling down, when they had found her, sobbing silently under a desk. The drone that picked her up had been almost gentle as he lifted her. But it had not stopped her scream in terror, even when she felt the sharp prick and the pressure in her own neck as nanoprobes were injected. Only when it was finished did she stop. Then she remembered nothing for another ten years, until she was released from the maturation chamber.

Annaka. That was who she was then. In a different life and time. It was a sharp contrast with Voyager. 

Captain Janeway had never given in to the Borg, even when the odds were insurmountable. Always finding a means of out-witting the foe. Or her chosen mate, Lieutenant Colonel Samuels, who had proved that the Borg were not unbeatable, even in their own territory. Between the two of them it was impossible to imagine a circumstance where problems could not be overcome.

There was, perhaps, another difference. One that meant more. She had never been ignored, because something else was more interesting.

Now you have more more members of your family, Seven, Neelix offered happily, catching up with her. He like the Captain had seen the look on her face as she had stalked away. Natural optimism made him hope that it was just shock she had displayed and had felt it his duty to help her over it.

Seven of Nine glared at him. I have a family. It consists of Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels, my unborn child and the crew of the USS Voyager. The addition of another is unnecessary.

But it is your mother! Neelix's shock at the icy response was palpable. Don't you want to get to know her again?

It is probable that she is my biological parent, Seven accepted. She is not part of my Collective. I see no merit in getting to know her for that purpose.

But she is different! Neelix blustered, desperately trying to make sense of Seven of Nine's reticence. She is your mother. She should be closer to you than even the Colonel! You should be overjoyed to see her! I know I would if I could see mine again.

Your family perished in a war, Seven of Nine observed. They did not provoke it. They were merely innocent victims. You also spent your formative life with them and had friends. My parents were foolish. They provoked the Borg in to assimilating them. Yet they lacked the adaptability to counter the threat when it materialised. As a result I was removed from human company at the age of three and assimilated at the age of six. I was unable to develop in a natural environment with my parents and others.

Colonel Samuels could be said to be foolish. The way he is prepared to lay down his life for the ship? Neelix offered slowly.

For a moment Seven of Nine looked nonplussed. His upbringing was similar to my own, she said at last. He does what he believes is correct to protect the Collective. He is attempting to modify his views. There are occasions when there is no alternative to his approach and he has proven to be highly adaptive to the situations he has faced. He has never ignored those around him, or surrendered.

The statement puzzled Neelix. He could think of no reason for Seven of Nine's obvious resentment, but the cold stare he was getting from Seven of Nine precluded further discussion and she was volunteering no more information.

Well. I'm sure things will be better now, he offered hopefully.

He turned away shame faced from the furious glare and activated his communicator as he crept away. Neelix to Colonel Samuels. I think Seven needs you.

  


Hells Bells! The Colonel muttered under his breath when Neelix finished explaining what had transpired on the planet below. Unlike the Talaxian, he did know Seven of Nine's recollections of her parents. He had spent many evenings teasing out and listening to her story. Only a born optimist like Neelix would imagine a sudden reunion would be an easy one.

He looked up at B'Elanna Paris and the Doctor. How soon? he asked.

We've finished, B'Elanna declared. We can re-activate as soon as we get it on the planet.

Excellent. Thank you. He scooped the drone up into his arms. Miller, take us down! Somewhere I want to try and build a few bridges.

  


Here you are, Ma'am. One Miss Seven Squared, junior Borg for the use of. All repaired and ready to go, the Colonel breezed, laying the drone on the ground. You will forgive me if I don't stay for the happy event.

Warily and under the watchful eyes of Captain Janeway and Chakotay, One of Three activated the drone. They watched in morbid fascination as a series of small diodes flashed, then a glow formed in the ocular implant. 

Seven of Seven sat bolt upright. My designation is Seven of Seven. Ancillary Unit of Unimatrix.. she stopped uncertainly, then. I am receiving no command controls. Define my function? She looked hard at Captain Janeway and One of Three as if expecting an answer.

No function has been defined for you as yet, One of Three declared. There was a definite note of relief in the drones tone, the Captain decided. One will be assigned.

Perhaps we can repair the others of your group? The Captain offered glancing at B'Elanna and the Doctor, who both nodded acceptance.

It will have limited benefit, One of Three opined quietly turning to face the Captain. We do not have the facilities to regenerate. We wish to accept your offer of transportation. Perhaps we can be placed with a suitable Collective?

Or even returned to your own people?

Perhaps that will be acceptable. I will signal the remainder to come.

  


The Colonel found Seven of Nine where Neelix had left her. Gently he wrapped an arm around her waist and cuddled her close.

I know what you think of your parents, he whispered nuzzling her ear, and I don't know if I entirely agree with you.

They did not try to resist, Seven complained.

Not everybody is as tricky as Captain Janeway and even fewer are stupid enough to do things my way, so the result would have been the same, he responded quietly. But if we were to forget who she is, could you learn to be friends?

It would require getting to know her, Seven of Nine observed.

Yes, it would, the Colonel accepted. It is your chance to set the boundaries. You may have to learn to live with her. Could you at least stand meeting her properly, with my hairy arm around you for protection?

she responded. Slipping her own arm around him they walked back to where the Doctor was examining the six drones.

Miss One of Three, The Colonel announced. May I have the pleasure to announce Mrs Seven of Nine Samuels.

My correct designation I am told is Doctor Erin Hansen, One of Three retorted. I wish to be known by that name.

Very good, Ma'am.

The woman beside you is Annaka Hansen? Human?

The Colonel felt Seven stiffen. I believe she once knew somebody of that name, he agreed. But that was some years ago. I think she had a tragic accident.

My designation is Seven of Nine. I was Borg and have chosen to maintain my Borg designation. Seven of Nine interrupted.

It was Seven's choice, the Doctor added.

And she does not wish to regain her human links?

I have my human links! Seven of Nine retorted. I discovered them during my four years aboard Voyager! With a sharp twist she broke away from the Colonel's comforting arm and stalked away.

For a moment he was torn to go after her and stay to protect her actions. In my humble opinion, Ma'am, the Colonel said. Mrs Nine has found better links than a human name.

Perhaps she will assist me to rediscover mine? One of Three suggested.

Perhaps you could ask, Ma'am? he offered evenly bowing to her before going in search of Seven of Nine again.

Your prognosis Doctor? The Captain asked, seeing that the potential battle had dissipated, at least for the time being and concerned at Seven of Nine's distinctly frosty approach.

They will be fine after a few weeks regeneration, the Doctor announced. I can start removing implants anytime they want.

So all we have to do is find something for you to do and somebody to help you, the Captain pondered reflectively. I think Neelix and the Doctor. We'll get you up to the ship and get underway again. With that she turned and headed after the Colonel.

  


You have orders for me, Ma'am? The Colonel questioned as the Captain strolled up behind him.

I don't think so. At least nothing you won't do yourself anyhow, she said thoughtfully. I came to find what is wrong with Seven?

Mrs Nine did not believe in ghosts, Ma'am, he responded cryptically. I think finding she has her own personal one has come as a bit of a shock. I don't see Mrs Hansen going on a Christmas card list any time in the near future.

You're not telling me everything, the Captain accused.

No I'm not, the Colonel admitted, finally turning to face her and displaying a face creased in concern. But I need to work out where I stand first. I have gained an extra member of my family as well. All I have to go by is what Mrs Nine has told me and I don't like what I've heard. I think I could end up paying for our charity. 

I assume you wish me to look after our guests? he added more lightly.

Not if you think you are going to have problems with your loyalties, the Captain assured him.

My loyalty is not in question, Ma'am. I don't have to 'like' people to get them to do things. All the same, I'd rather not start until tomorrow?

Carry on Colonel. I'm sure you want to cosy up with Seven for the rest of the night.

With a final salute and a crisp 'Ma'am', he turned and walked off into the night.

The Captain turned to find Chakotay standing behind her. I think I could regret taking the drones, she admitted wryly.

Families are not always happy, Chakotay placated. Just as long as they get over their quarrels.

The Captain's face finally broke into a grin. I owe you an apology and a thanks, she offered. Thanks for being there and an apology for not appreciating it!

It's a start, Kathryn, Chakotay offered. But you also owe me at least a forty cups of your awful coffee! But I won't hold that against you.

In the dying fire light she saw the flash of the smile. Just for once, she felt all the problems were other peoples, no matter how temporarily.

she declared. I don't intend to make up the arrears.

They stood for a few minutes in silence, then. But perhaps we could start again, as friends? She offered.

Always friends, Kathryn, Chakotay assured her. Perhaps we can do what the Colonel and Seven do. Sit, talk and listen?

Once we are underway?

Once we are underway, Chakotay agreed. He hesitated for a moment, then slipped a hesitant arm around her waist. He withdrew it quickly as she stiffened. Too far, friends but still with clear water between them.

Instead she gripped his arm, linking it in hers. I think I can see why the Colonel likes this place, she said quietly. It would be a nice place to settle one day!

They stood quietly in the darkness for a few minutes.

Time to go, he said.

Captain Janeway made no move.

Think we are the last people here?

Still she did not move. It was a peaceful moment. She did not want to lose it so soon.

Voyager to Captain. Ready to beam you aboard, Captain. Ensign Kim's voice shattered the moment and they disengaged.

  


  


  


  


  



	6. Nodes for Two (new 9/4/02)

Authors note. It has been a long time in coming. But I hope you will forgive me, it has been a hard story to write and life has got in the way

  


**Nodes for Two**

_A desperate mission to obtain technology to save the life of Seven of Nine goes seriously wrong_

_Voyager and the characters aboard her (except the Colonel and additional characters) in this story are copyright of Paramount. No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead._

_The story line and the Colonel are my own._

_Constructive criticism and comments are welcome on e-mail story@rgower.plus.com _

_If like me you like to know why things occur like they do, I would heartily recommend you start at chapter 1-01 Castaway. _

_This story is rated PG13 _

_©R Gower 2002_

  


From the direction of the Mess there came the sounds of a female voice arching lyrically to match the haunting tune that was being rendered upon a piano. Then a rich male voice joined with the female to form a perfectly counterpoised duet, both voices joining, to spin together before splitting apart, one lifting the other falling. It prompted Captain Janeway to diverge from her habitual nocturnal wander around the ship, to head directly for her final coffee. Seven of Nine, for she was sure it was her, had an excellent singing voice, when she chose to use it and the price of a truncated stroll around Voyager was a minor payment. The ship would be there in the morning. Seven of Nine in a musical mood would not.

It was with some surprise, therefore, that she found the issuers of the melodious duet were not Seven of Nine and her spouse, as she had expected, but Seven of Seven and Thirteen of Twenty-Eight, two of the six Borg refugees that Voyager had rescued six weeks earlier.

Her surprise must have registered upon her face, for the two ex-Borg stopped and looked uncomfortable.

We apologise, Captain Janeway, Thirteen of Twenty-Eight pronounced, lifting his massive body from the piano stool, mistaking her surprise for disapproval. We were unaware we were breaking the regulations aboard your vessel. 

There's no rules broken, the Captain grinned. I was just a little surprised. It is usually the Colonel and Seven of Nine who sing like that! Please finish?

We are still unsure of the words, Seven of Seven excused. We do not have total recall of our previous lives.

It will come back in time, the Captain encouraged. I don't think Seven remembers all of her early life, although most of it is on record. What do you recall so far?

She strolled towards the replicator to summon a coffee, then took a seat, indicating to the other two to join her. An informal discussion in the informal Mess Hall might put them more at ease, the Colonel had already told her that these two in particular were uncomfortable aboard Voyager.

We know we are from a planetary system known as Trafoil, Thirteen of Twenty-Eight volunteered, declining the invitation to be seated. Seven of Nine has identified two planets from Astrometrics. She believes the sixth to be an agricultural planet, with limited industrial capacity and a high gravity.

Then why did the Borg pick on you? Captain Janeway enquired with surprise. They don't normally go for anybody without a technological advantage.

There were a number of our race aboard the Borg ship. We were used for heavy assembly work, Thirteen of Twenty-Eight explained.

That was reasonable, Captain Janeway conceded. Even without Borg enhancements, Thirteen of Twenty-Eight was definitely strong. At 2.1 Metres tall, 2.2 around the chest and carried upon two legs that would not disgrace an elephant, he looked like 250Kg of sheer muscle. She had the sneaking suspicion that this was one person even the Colonel would think twice about taking on physically.

Seven of Seven was very different. She shared the same tulip shaped ears, sat low at the side of her head, the same upturned nose and short brown curly hair, but where Thirteen of Twenty-Eight was massive, Seven of Seven was petite and scarcely 1.6 Metres tall.

What was your function? The Captain asked Seven of Seven. You don't look as though you could be from the same planet?

I did not have a function, Seven of Seven admitted. I was only brought out of maturation because of the system failures.

How about the others?

One of Three, Doctor Hansen, was a Secondary Adjunct Seven of Seven admitted. She has recalled most. She has your records to help her. Fourteen of Twenty-Eight, was a technical repair adjunct. She remembers a little of her race. But we do not know about the others. I think Twelve of Twenty was a systems drone. I wish to remember my name before I return, she giggled suddenly. Colonel Samuels refers to me as Seven Squared. He says it stops him from getting confused with Seven of Nine. Yet I have never heard him refer to her as anything other than Mrs Nine. Why does she still use her designation instead of her name?

I don't know, the Captain admitted. Originally I think it might have been because she was afraid to become too human. Though now she is as human as anybody aboard this ship. More so than some in fact. Still, I'm sure we can help you recover more of your memory before we get you home. She rose, stifling a yawn behind a closed fist. If you need any help then I am always available. In the mean time. Please, try and make yourselves at home. I'd like to hear more of your music, when you remember enough of it? Now I must get some rest before I'm needed on the Bridge again. She grinned encouragingly at them and left them to their devices.

  


The Doctor permitted himself a sigh of satisfaction at the results from his tri-corder. Nine of Fourteen, a slim reptilian that could almost pass as humanoid, if it were not for the scaly skin, was the last of his Borg patients and had been the most difficult to recover. But finally, and with much assistance from Fourteen of Twenty-Eight, they had succeeded in removing 85% of all the enhancements that made up Borg physiology. 

He had the right, he decided, to be pleased with himself. The procedures he had developed for Seven of Nine in removing Borg technology had now reached a plateau that could only be surpassed by the invention of a method of replacing brain cells themselves. It meant that four of his six new Borg patients now showed little external sign of what they once were. Though they would always need to regenerate the less visible components.

"I would never have thought of reconfiguring those nerve endings to control automatic processes," he complimented his new assistant.

"I was of the belief dis-assimilation of a drone was impossible," Fourteen of Twenty-Eight returned the compliment. "The reconfiguring of nerves is a comparatively minor enhancement to your own procedures."

"Perhaps we can persuade Seven of Nine to undergo the procedure?" the Doctor suggested. "It might make her less reliant upon regeneration?"

"They are unlikely to work," Fourteen of Twenty-Eight opined. "The modifications you made during dis-assimilation will make them more difficult. Also the neural nodes used during her assimilation were of a different type to the ones used for the others. We, the Borg, had a different purpose for her assimilation."

"In that case perhaps we can discuss some means of returning your wings to you?" The Doctor suggested. "Lieutenant B'Elanna Paris has some suggestions that might help."

Fourteen of Twenty-Eight was one of the exceptions to the others. Not so much because there were external features of Borg assimilation, that had been reduced to a single monical around her right eye and the scars from her removed Borg assimilation nodules, but because of physical disfigurement. She looked as if she had a hunched back under the gown she was wearing. What it hid were a powerful rack of muscle between her shoulder blades and two short stumps of limbs. 'The Borg have little use for physical flight,' she had dismissed when he had quizzed her.

There was a trace of a smile from Fourteen of Twenty-Eight. "It will not be necessary," she said sweetly. "My assimilation was more than forty of your Earth years ago. There is no trace left of my race now. I would be unable to develop the necessary muscles for the task again."

Well perhaps you can think about it? The Doctor suggested. In the mean time it is time for your regeneration. Perhaps you'll allow me to escort you to the Cargo Bay? He offered an arm to the ex-Borg in a gallant gesture.

Fourteen of Twenty-Eight regarded the gesture curiously. I have observed that Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels frequently makes a similar gesture to Seven of Nine, but no others, she commented. Is there a significance in the act of offering and acceptance?

I would like to escort you, so you do not get lost. It is considered, in some quarters, to be polite, the Doctor said quickly, in truth he was becoming quite attached to Fourteen of Twenty-Eight. 

That will be unnecessary. I will not get lost, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight pronounced. My observations had led me to believe there was a personal aspect.

In the end she accepted the Doctors company to the Cargo Bay, if not the arm. There she took her place beside the fifth of the Borg castaways, unit Twelve of Twenty.

Satisfied she had entered her regenerative trance, the Doctor checked the final drone with his tri-corder. 

Of the six, he was the one that they knew least about. Even the Borg were uncertain as to when he had actually joined them. For race, he could have belonged to any one of six humanoid races that Voyager had encountered, yet he had differed in slight ways. Nor had he accepted the offer of assistance to remember who and what he was and as yet had refused offers to have his implants removed.

Satisfied with the readings, the Doctor shut off his device and took a final glance around the Cargo Bay before dimming the lights and leaving the sleeping to rest.

  


The final member of the sextet of ex-Borg refugees, Doctor Erin Hansen, had taken up residence in Science Lab 2 on deck 7. From there she spent her time between attempting to catch up with her missing life, whilst ostensibly reviewing Voyagers own discoveries during its wander through the Delta Quadrant. 

Both were daunting tasks. 

For the later, the data Voyager had recovered on its voyage would keep Starfleet scientists engaged for tens of years. Even the Fourteen terra-quads of data she and her husband, Magnus, had gleaned on the Borg during their six month pursuit would have taken Starfleet five years of effort to assimilate and correlate. Voyager had collected fifteen times the volume of data. Because of the activities of her daughter and Voyager, much of what had been gathered thirty years previously would be rendered obsolete. It would be pointless to delve into theoretical discussions if one could simply ask the source for an answer.

As large a task as making sense of Voyagers scientific delving's were, they paled into insignificance compared with the former, that of relearning her own past. Whilst the others of her group would remember as much as they needed, slowly and over time, her own life was left bare by records whether she wanted to remember or not. She and Magnus had been good scientists. They recorded everything, that they did, said and thought.

It meant that she was now watching a recording. 

It was a recording from of a party aboard the Raven. 

A birthday party.

The guest of honour was a little girl in red dress, her golden hair tumbled around her shoulders and kept in place by a scarlet plastic band. She was laughing freely, as two adults, the only other attendees, encouraged her to take a deep breath and blow out the candle on the cake. Then they had broken into a refrain of 'Happy Birthday', accompanied by more giggles. She knew who all three characters were, the tape told her; He was Doctor Magnus Hansen, she was Doctor Erin Hansen, his wife, and the girl was Annaka, their daughter. She did not feel as though it was part of her life..

Until the memory struck.

It had been Annaka's sixth birthday and she had badgered them persistently for the party, until they had given in, despite the need to correlate the previous weeks data. They had also given her a birthday present; A tri-corder. It had been an old model, but functional, and Annaka had spent that and the following day examining everything she met with it, to the amusement and irritation of her parents.

Erin Hansen snapped off the view screen and glared at it. There ought to have been pleasure in the recollection. She knew that too. Instead there was anger and bitterness. Thirty years had been wasted with nothing to show for it. Not even, it seemed, a daughter. Seven of Nine having made no effort to see her and had disavowed her name.

She turned the screen on again and started to flick through more records, though they had little to do with her own life. Instead they were focused upon that of Seven of Nine.

  


I think Seven should at least make an effort to see her mother, Neelix commented to the Colonel at breakfast. I'm sure she would appreciate it. It might even persuade her to spend some time with the crew? She seems to disapprove of people entering the lab.

The Colonel stopped mid-spoon to look up at the Talaxian with tired eyes, as he hovered by his table. You are probably right, Mr Neelix, he sighed. But I'm not going to make her. She has her reasons for not trying too hard and the good Doctor has been less than helpful.

I keep wondering how I'd feel if my parents suddenly appeared after all these years, he continued quietly. Apart from the fact I wouldn't believe them, I think I would be scared stiff. He grinned wryly. Same as I am now, to be honest. I don't think she entirely approves of the thug her daughter got entangled with. She only glares at you, if you enter at less than her command.

Now, I think sweet tea and honey sweetened porridge, the Colonel changed the subject quickly as Seven of Nine entered the Mess and staggered towards the table. No lumps, mind!

I do not desire breakfast, Seven of Nine said to Neelix as he turned for the servery. Tea will suffice.

My stomach is suffering discomfort, she explained to her spouse's quizzical look as she sat at the table. Sleeping naturally has led to extended and violent activity from the foetus.

'Kicking like a mule', would have been the Colonel's description of the babies activities during the night. He had felt it as they lay together, his hand trying to support the growing mound of her stomach. He had felt the pain as well, through the neural link still embedded in the base of his skull. Her own Borg transmitter broadcasting in distress at the more extreme events, only her physical exhaustion preventing her waking. It worried him and had led to a disturbed night. There was still another three months to go. Some serious damage was going to be done sooner or later and the Doctor had all but forbidden the extended regeneration needed to repair the damage that he felt must be occurring. 

Well you did want to experience every facet of pregnancy, he offered, adding a touch of flippancy to hide his concerns.

It has been experienced. I wish it to stop. It is interfering with my duties, Seven of Nine declared stonily.

The Colonel grinned weakly. So do I. Now. Are you certain you can stand a shift in Astrometrics? 

Seven of Nine announced firmly, standing up. 

She staggered as she did so causing the Colonel to spring from his own chair and catch her.

I wish I was so sure, he whispered gently.

It is necessary, Seven of Nine affirmed, a little less firmly. Her head was spinning. You may escort me, she offered her arm.

The offer came as a welcome relief to the Colonel. He still felt deep guilt for the fate of his first wife and unborn child. That and a somewhat fatalistic view of his own life, meant he desperately wanted to take close and personal care of his pregnant wife. If challenged, he would admit that the level of care he wanted to offer would prove 'Over the Top'. Seven of Nine's 'Rules' as to the level of care he was permitted to offer hurt, but they were what she wanted and he suffered them, bending them when he could. This had been the first time she had asked for help in months.

Thus he watched her with some concern as she staggered stiffly around the control panels of Astrometrics, activating the large view screen with an astronomical chart.

You may assist me, Seven of Nine accepted, noticing that he was still hovering near the door. It is necessary to plot a course to the Trafoil system. The region in between contains a large number of hazardous phenomena. They must be avoided. 

I can't poke those buttons. I wouldn't have a clue what I was doing! The Colonel protested.

That was true, Seven of Nine accepted. Sometimes it irked that he had never visibly managed to get to grips with ships systems. Then there were other times when he would prove he understood more than he let on, the effects, if not the science. He had once used the expression 'Too clever by half', and in an attempt to understand the strange phrase and others he periodically used she had investigated its meaning. Seven had decided that he took the curse literally. But she was still feeling queazier than she was prepared to admit, she wanted the company of her protector. 

I will display the route upon the screen. You will check for errors, she instructed. These controls will pan and turn the display, she demonstrated a number of small controls on the central control panel. The route must maintain a minimum of five million kilometres from events. That at least he would be able to gauge, she decided, by guesswork if nothing else.

What's the white dot? The Colonel asked after some fifteen minutes of carefully twisting the view screen around to examine each point Seven of Nine put upon the display.

White dot? Define?

That one. In the middle of the grey cloud. He painted at a speck upon the screen.

An asteroid, Seven of Nine dismissed. She had missed the body in question.

He shook his head. This little display thingy says what is there normally, he pointed out. And if I remember right, a planetary body cannot exist in a plasmonic nebula. It said so in my little book of big words.

A planetry body cannot form in one, Seven of Nine corrected. 

Knowing full well his interest had been piqued, she dutifully redirected her sensor suite to examine the small dot. It is a Borg sphere. The Anti-matter systems have been drained of power, as would be expected, minimal life support. Indications of heavy structural damage.

Could it be our guests old ship? The Colonel asked curiously. 

That is possible. It is unlikely there is still life aboard, or anything of benefit to Voyager, Seven of Nine added quickly, in case the Colonel had sudden visions of asking the Captain for permission to go to the stricken vessels rescue. Whilst he may not be phased by memories of Borg vessels, her own did. She had no desire to board one again.

I suppose not, he admitted then grinned. I'm sorry. I interrupted your flow. Where were we?

They returned to the task, for it to be broken again a few minutes later.

Annaka Hansen, report to Science Lab Two!

They both blanched at the order. And for a moment it looked to the Colonel as if Seven of Nine was going to ignore the summons, until it repeated. Annaka Hansen, report to Science Lab Two. Immediately!

She could have done that rather better, the Colonel opined sourly. Your mother's ways do little to endear themselves.

I was also considered rude, when I was released from the Collective, Seven of Nine admitted charitably. I do not wish to see her.

Maybe you were. But you did not have a role model as an example to follow and nobody had been 'de-Borged' before. Still, perhaps it is not too late to remind her there is one. May I be permitted to come with you?

You believe I should go? Seven of Nine questioned uncertainly. She had only seen her mother twice since her rescue. Neither occasion had had an agreeable outcome. Now she avoided meetings. Even to the point of putting off her regeneration until after Doctor Hansen had left the Cargo Bay.

If only to get your name straight, for once and for all, the Colonel suggested. You can't keep reversing course every time you hear her coming down the corridor. This is your home as much as hers. More so, you've been here longer.

I will go, she accepted. Your company will not be necessary. It will cause an argument.

  


Many of the records are erroneously made. A number bear the signature of your mate and contain little scientific fact. Perhaps you may assist me in finding their value? Erin Hansen observed to Seven of Nine as she entered the lab.

He is not a scientist and knows little scientific practice, Seven of Nine excused, taking an at ease stance, hands behind her back. She wondered if her mother was trying to be pleasant, or meant some slight at her husbands abilities. Captain Janeway has encouraged him to add to Voyagers records in such way as he is able. They are factual descriptions and opinions.

Opinions are not accurate, Doctor Hansen retorted. Nor are the descriptions. This report refers to a seaweed infestation of the ship. He repeatedly refers to the weed as 'Bladderwrack'. There is no such species.

It is a species of weed that grew in saline water bodies on Earth, correctly termed Fucus Vesiculosus, Seven of Nine argued. It was a common infestation on Earth during the period he lived there. He has described it accurately within the limits of his knowledge. There are additional records regarding the weed created by myself and a number of other crew members that bare an accurate scientific and explicit description. His solution worked.

His solution to the problem and observations were destructive and lacked scientific basis. Therefore they are inefficient, of little benefit and should be deleted?

Doctor Hansen hid her surprise at the simple acceptance. It had been her opinion that Seven of Nine had been totally under the influence of her mate and there would have more objection. 

There are other reports based entirely upon his subjective opinion, she said, bringing up a new entry on the display. This is upon the Borg. He describes them as an irritation; Technologically advanced but tactically inflexible and ineffective. He has described an race he knows nothing about. His statement is flawed. They are a danger to all races!

Seven of Nine stiffened in irritation, Doctor Hansen seemed intent upon a course of criticism targeted at her pupil and mate. That is also a subjective opinion, formed over the period you have been aboard Voyager, she observed. The statement is out of context, Seven of Nine continued stepping forward to examine the entry. The source of his knowledge on Borg organisation is adequate. I am Borg. I have observed both Captain Janeway and Colonel Samuels when they are faced with a Borg threat. They have proven to be both more adaptable and capable. Therefore the statement has validity. If you are prepared to face the threat and not surrender to them, as you did, the Borg may be thwarted and defeated. The purpose of these comments?

We did not surrender. We tried to escape, Doctor Hansen snarled viciously. Your opinions have been clouded by Colonel Samuels and Captain Janeway. The comments are dangerous. He is dangerous. To the ship and its crew. He has even threatened crew members. That is why you are unprepared to take your human name, because you are afraid of his reactions?

It was too much. My designation is Seven of Nine Samuels, Seven of Nine's voice rose in her own anger as she turned to face the woman, less than a metre away. I chose to keep my Borg designation in preference to my original name. I was part of the Collective for the greater part of my life. I will always bear the scars of having been so. There is no benefit in hiding behind a name that was of no benefit when I possessed it! Colonel Samuels has made my Borg experience acceptable..

You are a human. An individual. My daughter! Doctor Hansen screamed, interrupting. You are not a drone of Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels. The designation 'Seven of Nine', is not appropriate!

My designation is.. My name is Seven of Nine Samuels. My chosen mate is.. I am.. Seven of Nine trailed off in confusion, her face flushing in her fury, her fists clenched. Then her face lost all colour as she blanching white, then she crumpled in a heap on the floor.

For a few moments Doctor Hansen regarded the unconscious form at her feet, as she calmly attempted to analyse Seven of Nine's obvious righteous anger. All she had attempted to do was point out errors in the formation of some of Voyager's records. Yet Seven of Nine had taken her comments as an attack on the primitive. 

Despite spending nearly twelve hours reading Seven of Nine's records, she could not find a logical reason for her daughter's attachment to the green clad human. Certainly not one to warrant such a protective and confrontational attitude.

Tentatively Doctor Hansen prodded Seven of Nine with her foot. Only when she realised that the blonde was not going to move immediately did Doctor Hansen stoop to examine her. She had been caught by prospective drones attempting to play possum before.

Finally she reached for her communicator. One to beam to Sick Bay, she ordered calmly.

  


Captain Janeway raced down the corridor. The summons from the Doctor had contained more than a trace of panic and she understood why as soon as he named Seven of Nine. In her own panic she had launched herself at the Turbo Lift, then chaffed at its sloth for the fifteen seconds it took to reach deck 5.

She arrived at the Sickbay door at the same time as the reason for her alarm. 

She'll be okay, Colonel! The Captain tried to placate him. As a reassurance it seemed as empty as the face that turned to her was of colour.

Think I'll wait until I've beaten some answers out of the Doctor, Ma'am. Now will you open the door, or shall I? He inclined his head at the door which so far, although they were in front of it, had not opened.

Perhaps the Doctor was worried about you? Computer open the door. Security Clearance Janeway Alpha Zero-One!

The door slid open and she stepped through.

He had no reason to be, unless he wants to start silly playing tricks like that, the Colonel hissed under his breath as he followed her in.

Both of them made a beeline for Seven of Nine, ignoring the three other people in the room. She lay still and deathly white upon the bio-bed. Catching Seven's hand in hers the Captain was horrified at how cold it was. In alarm she looked up at the Doctor.

It's her Cortical Node, the Doctor said simply. It's failing.

Well repair it! The Colonel snapped from the other side of the bed.

I can't, the Doctor whispered pitifully, the jubilation of the day before shattered. It controls all of her biological systems. There are other complications! He looked sideways at Fourteen of Twenty-Eight.

The Cortical Node is unique to each drone. It is developed by the drones Nanoprobes during assimilation from a basic unit or seed and will normally operate for the drones life-span. As such it is not reproducible, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight explained. In addition the unit inside Seven of Nine has been modified beyond our understanding and has been controlling the development of the infant. This has placed a loading beyond the units normal design capability. With the damage sustained during her encounter with the Destrons, the unit has been overloaded beyond its ability to self-regenerate.

Which means? Captain Janeway asked.

It must be replaced within 46 hours or Seven of Nine will have degenerated too far for the remains of her probes to configure it. She will cease to exist.

What about the baby? The Captains voice now a whisper.

The baby's development has been accelerated by Seven's Cortical Node, the Doctor put in. When Seven regenerated the speed of development was increased by a factor of three. It is why I told Seven to reduce her regeneration times, to allow her body to keep up. It is almost fully developed. If it were only its natural aspects we could save it...

It does not yet posses a Cortical Node to control the implants that have been built, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight rescued the Doctor. On a Borg vessel the Cortical Node Seed would be injected before the infant is placed in a regeneration chamber. It would remain dormant until it was activated by its release and final programming. We are unsure how this would be achieved in the case of Seven of Nine. There has never been a pregnant drone. Perhaps it was intended that she would produce a cortical node seed upon the infants birth.

So we need two cortical nodes?

The Doctor nodded. Yes. But we must replace Seven's or we can't configure the second.

And how many do we have?

The only units aboard Voyager are those present in the drones. They can be adapted, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight announced. You wish to designate which drones to terminate?

Captain Janeway gaped at Fourteen of Twenty-Eight, struck dumb in horror at the suggestion.

The unit Seven of Nine is of prime importance to your vessel. We are not. It is logical to save those of greatest benefit, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight observed calmly.

Finally the Captain found her voice. We don't do things that way, she whispered huskily. We find another way. Get B'Elanna to go over the cortical node. Even if she can't repair it, she might find a way to stabilise it and give us time. 

She straightened unsteadily to her full height, took a pitying glance at the Colonel, crouched as he was beside Seven of Nine, silently gripping one hand firmly and gently stroking her head with his other and headed unsteadily for the door.

  


Unable to face the questioning glances from the bridge crew she terminated the lift at deck three and headed for her private quarters. There she collapsed on the sofa as the shock finally hit her.

Seven of Nine was her daughter! 

Not her biological daughter, true. But she had watched, supported, guided and worried about her over the previous five years in a way that only a mother could. 

The pleasure of learning that Seven had learnt that she could have her own opinions. The annoyance of finding that they often differed from her own. The anger at the arguments. Teaching her to socialise with others, even take interest in things other than duty. The joy to find Seven was investigating relationships. The disappointment to discover she had stopped, because it was irrelevant. The relief, when Seven suddenly found somebody who she wanted to share her life with and the jealousy when she realised that Seven would no longer look to her first for guidance. The pride when the attachment became official. The all pervading glow that seemed to shroud Seven when she learnt she could become more than a mate, but a mother as well. 

An accelerated growing up, yes. One with a very uniquely gifted and ungainly child. But all of the boosts and heartbreaks of parenthood had been the sole prerogative of Kathryn Janeway. Now was the ultimate pain. Seven was dying. Not because of some physical enemy action; at least that would leave somebody to strike at, even if it served no beneficial purpose. Nor because of some strange illness, a common risk for those who explored space, yet was as often as not cured. But because of a breakdown in systems that were unique to her and bore no hope of repair or replacement.

Kathryn Janeway's self pity was interrupted by the door chime and the entry of Chakotay.

We've heard, he said gently. I thought you might like some company? He sat on the edge of the sofa, his hand taking hers and gripping it firmly.

She demanded between sniffs.

Because after the Colonel, you are the most attached to Seven, he said simply. The Colonel is able to show it because he is not in command. You don't think you can because you are.

B'Elanna is looking at the node? The Captain asked, trying to pull herself together.

It did not work. Chakotay knew her too well. Stop trying to control yourself, Kathryn, he chided. Let it go. You'll start to think properly afterwards.

Unwillingly, she did. Pulling herself into a sitting position, she broke into gut wrenching sobs, burying her face into his shoulder, arms around him, gripping tightly.

Silently Chakotay held her, gently rocking her in her anguish.

Ten minutes, or so, later Captain Janeway had recovered enough to regain some semblance of control. Staff meeting in twenty minutes, she said softly, wiping her reddened eyes. I want to know what possible solutions there are.

What do we do with the Colonel? Chakotay asked cautiously.

If you can persuade him to leave Seven, he comes to, she said. And Doctor Hansen, she added as an after thought.

  


I have sedated Seven, the Doctor reported dutifully fifteen minutes later in the impromptu staff meeting. But her condition is critical. Almost all of her natural processes that were controlled by the Cortical Node are now controlled by the computer. It may give us a little more time.

How much time? The Captain demanded.

The Doctor shrugged helplessly. I don't know. Without the Node to prompt and control the production of Nanoprobes, it will depend upon how long her existing ones will work for. I can't put her in the alcove because of the baby.

We are testing a number of probes from Colonel Samuels, they are a close pattern match and require little adaptation, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight observed. He has insufficient to have a prolonged effect. Nor does he have the facilities to maintain a steady supply.

Can we modify some from the other drones? Tom suggested hopefully.

They may help stabilise the situation, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight admitted. But in her weakened condition, they must be modified to exactly match Seven of Nine's or assimilation will occur. It will require more time than is currently available. The Cortical Node must be replaced.

So. Where do we get one? The Captain asked.

How about from a Borg ship? The Colonel suggested. Mrs Nine and I found one earlier on.

They turned to face where he sat. It had taken Chakotay all of the time the Captain had allowed to gently coax the Colonel to leave Seven of Nine. Now he sat, white faced and grim, trying to take in what was being said.

Why was it not reported? Tuvok asked, carefully modulating tone and inflection. All could sense the tension that was building within the soldier and were terrified of how it was going to be released.

It was in some sort of nebula and very dead, the Colonel protested. Can't remember what the nebula was called, only that we couldn't approach it and it contained more syllables than was good for it.

Harry, Tuvok, find it. Take the Colonel with you, if it will help. the Captain snapped. Then get us on course.

If there is a way to save Seven. We will find it, she commented quietly to Doctor Hansen as the meeting broke up. She was finding the Doctor difficult to understand. She had seemed less than enthusiastic over attending the meeting, had contributed nothing during it. Instead she had spent it staring at the Colonel.

Your intention is noted, Captain Janeway. 

That was it. She had not expect wild praises to be sung. But the Captain had expected something more than a calm dismissal, even after half a life time as a Borg. She began, then gave up. It was too much when matched to her own feelings.

  


Seven was right, Kim said in Astrometrics, offering the bad news. There is no way we can get to that ship. The plasma in the nebula would neutralise our anti-matter before we got to it.

The senior staff had once again gathered together, only this time in Astrometrics and they were observing the plasmonic nebula on the large astrometrics display as it span to show them the area around the stricken Borg ship.

It is possible to create a protonic resonance matrix, Tuvok suggested. It would reduce the neutralisation of anti-matter containment. It would however be a total shield. We would not be able to use transporters, or impulse engines for propulsion.

There was silence for a while as they took the scene in.

Chakotay suddenly broke out. Take it back. Is that a dent in the nebula? How close does it get to the ship?

Dutifully Kim reversed the display to show the indent that Chakotay had observed. 

I could coast the flyer that far? Tom Paris offered. It would only take a few hours.

But you wouldn't get back, B'Elanna scolded.

If I coasted the shuttle in, I could get the bits, then Voyager can do the same trick and pick us up? Tom suggested.

We wouldn't know when to come and collect. All communications will be out, Kim protested.

How about, if I blew the Borg ship up when we were ready to be picked up? The Colonel suggested. You should see that!

If we decide we can do it, you will not be on the shuttle, Colonel, the Captain stated plainly, making her decision. The team will have to be small, know what they are looking for and the operation planned to the second. Tom, work with Fourteen of Twenty-Eight. Find out how long we need aboard the Borg ship. Tuvok, Harry, find a way to protect us in the Nebula. I want contingencies for maintaining emergency power and resuming full power when we are out the other side.

Are you sure about this, Kathryn? Chakotay queried as the others trooped out to set about their duties as designated. We could be risking more than Seven of Nine's life. It is not just because of your feelings for Seven?

I would do it for any member of this ship! She protested, then paused for a moment. I don't know, she admitted more thoughtfully. You can help examine the plans. Unless there is a good chance of success we don't go!

She turned for the door to find the way blocked by the Colonel.

Request you reconsider my presence on the Away Team, Ma'am? He asked formally. I may not know what I'm looking for, as such. But they may need the grunt. We don't know what they are going to meet.

The Captain restated bluntly. You are too close. Your place is here. Looking after Seven!

Please, Ma'am! I can't do anything for Mrs Nine here. And she is my responsibility. You are going to risk your crew to help her. That is where I belong. I'll take the risks for them. 

There was a note of desperate pleading in the voice that made the Captain waver. I'll wait to see the plans, she said.

  


Seven hours later Captain Janeway looked up from the plans that had been presented to her. Broadly, Tom would set off in the Delta Flyer and a small boarding party to coast upto the target ship, now positively identified as a Borg sphere. When completed they would drop the modified shields for three minutes to allow the impulse engines time to get them upto a speed to coast out again before the last of the power drained away. In the meantime Voyager was to drop anti-matter containers on the opposite side of the anomaly, then sprint to a position to collect the Flyer when it had finished, or go after it if there was a problem. Voyager's greater emergency power reserves, in theory, at least, giving her all the time she needed to coast through. When she emerged, she could refuel, if they had lost warp capability.

The simplicity of the plan hid a minefield of problems. 

Timing would be everything. There would be no communication possible, so if the Flyer got into difficulties, it would be on its own. Even if there were communications it was doubtful that Voyager would be able offer assistance in time. Once inside the nebula Voyager's ability to manoeuvre would be severely limited, she would be able to change direction slightly with thrusters, but not stop, or speed up, or she would not get out. 

It was, she decided, just possible. If the mastermind of the operation was determined enough. You aren't going to have much time, she observed to Tom Paris, attempting to test his resolve. Tuvok gives you a maximum duration with Emergency Power of Fourteen hours, before the shields are too weak to protect you. It will take six to coast to the Borg ship, and at least that to get back. If we have to come after you we may not be able to stop to help. It means you have less than an hour?

Fourteen of Twenty-Eight says she can find the parts in twenty minutes, Tom Paris countered firmly. Thirteen of Twenty-Eight and Twelve of Twenty have volunteered to come as well. Between them they should know their way around.

The Captain glanced at Chakotay for confirmation. He nodded an approval.

Do you want the Colonel? She asked carefully. He has asked, begged, to go. But you haven't listed him?

I thought he would want to be with Seven?

The Captain shook her head and smiled ruefully. He thinks he will be of more benefit to her helping you.

Tom Paris considered this for a brief moment. I don't think so, he said slowly. Thirteen can shift anything that is in the way and we are not expecting any other trouble.

I'll lock him in the Brig until you've gone. The plan is approved. You go as soon as the modifications to the Flyer have been completed.

She rose and left the Ready Room, calling for a security detail to meet her outside Sick Bay.

  


The Captain found the Colonel, as expected, kneeling beside Seven of Nine's bed, talking quietly to her, whilst holding her right hand firmly in both of his. 

Unusually, he did not seem to hear her enter. Normally he would spring to attention and salute whenever she entered the room. A formality that she had had to become accustomed to; Under his rules, as the Captain of a ship, she was the superior officer, yet it would still bring a smile to her face, especially when it was maintained ashore when he had clearly taken control.

For him not to, was a certain sign of how badly he was affected. She stopped for a moment and listened to what he was saying.

'You rest my love,' he was whispering. 'Don't worry. Cap'n Kate has it all under control. We'll get it fixed. Then you will have our baby and it'll be a bonnie thing. As beautiful and as intelligent as it's mother. I won't know which to love most!'

There was a mumble from the bed, she could not catch what was being said, though the reply was clear enough.

'It is still there and it is fine. Just resting. Like you should be.' He leant forward and kissed her on the forehead.

The Captain coughed politely and the Colonel sprang to his feet like a scolded cat. Sorry, Ma'am. I did not hear you enter, Ma'am! He gasped, going red in the face and saluting.

It was the Captains turn to blush. I didn't mean to interrupt a private moment, she stammered. I didn't know Seven was awake. But we are going. Tom will be launching in a couple of hours. I thought you would like to know.

I'll get my kit, the Colonel growled his approval.

You aren't going.

The Flyer will be taking a full compliment. If you try to argue, Colonel, I will have security put you in the Brig. I said I would consider your request when I had seen the plans. Tom will have everything he needs. This is one mission you will have to sit out.

There was silence as he took the news in. 

Very well, Ma'am, he said finally. May I be permitted to attend my church before being jugged?

The Captain nodded and turned to Seven of Nine.

I promise to keep him safe for you, she whispered, squeezing Seven's hand.

That is an error, Seven of Nine whispered weakly. He is scared and requires a task. 

The baby. I am unable to feel it! It is not moving! Seven demanded after a few minutes silence, a note of panic forming in the voice. It will survive? 

There was real fear in those powder blue eyes, the Captain could see it. Yes. The baby will survive, she promised. And so will you. I promise.

That is acceptable, Seven sighed. I wish to see it. She slipped back into sleep.

  


Tom Paris concentrated upon the controls of the Delta Flyer. To reach the Borg ship in the correct time, he had to enter the nebula at exactly warp 0.55. Too fast and they would arrive quicker, but would expend too much precious energy from the thrusters. Too slow and the time available to find the parts they needed might prove too short. Yet the velocities were in the order where the decimals did not count in the normal course of events. It was, in short, as fine a juggling act as docking 700,000 tonne spaceships to a space station.

He allowed himself a sigh of relief as the small shuttle breached the boundary of the Nebula just as the gauges clicked through 0.55 and the Impulse Engine died as the modified shields came up. So far so good.

This must be what it was like when men first went into space, he commented brightly to his three Borg team. We use what we have, then when it's gone there is nothing left but wait.

There are parallels, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight conceded. You should rest for the next six hours. It will aid the conservation of power.

Yes, Ma'am! He responded cheekily. I have a deck of cards. Anybody up for a game of poker?

That will not be necessary.

A game of I-Spy then? It will help the time pass?

The flight has been timed to take five hours fifty-three minutes, it is undesirable to arrive faster, or for it to take longer. A primitive observational game will not adjust the rate at which time passes, Twelve of Twenty said bluntly.

You're worse than Tuvok. Always taking the literal. Tom muttered, surprised that Twelve of Twenty had volunteered to speak, let alone an opinion. It ranked with his volunteering to join the expedition as a cause of wonder. Perhaps he was starting to 'find his feet'. 

Tom hoped this was the case. He was the only non-Borg aboard the flyer, unless...

He rose from his seat and searched, whilst the Borg looked on in bemusement.

You have lost something, Lieutenant Paris? Fourteen of Twenty-Eight asked after Tom inspected inside a panel beside her.

He grinned weakly. I haven't 'lost' anything. I was looking to see if we had 'gained' something, he admitted. The Colonel wanted to come.

Captain Janeway instructed him that he was not required, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight observed. She had a security team available, should he object.

That wouldn't stop him, Tom said confidently settling back in his chair, wondering if he had missed somewhere in the small ship that could hide a human of the Colonel's stature. Especially as Seven's life depends upon it.

He would disobey an order?

He wouldn't see it like that. But. Yes! He's done it before. Then convinced the Captain he hadn't.

Perhaps you should explain? Fourteen of Twenty-Eight suggested. I have noticed he defers to Captain Janeway's wishes, even when he has assumed command. It may assist you to ignore the wait?

It was all the prompting Tom Paris needed. He commenced a long discussion of Voyager's travels.

  


Tom Paris was feeling pleased with himself. The Delta Flyer had arrived in the vicinity of the Borg Sphere almost exactly on time and the target had been spotted almost immediately a little over 100Km away to their left by Thirteen of Twenty-Eight. It had been one of the things that could have gone seriously wrong. Whilst the short range sensors would pick up the dead ships presence, the signals tended to be bounced in all directions, making accurate location almost impossible.

The vessel is not ours, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight announced. There is a manual docking port on the lower half of the sphere. You should attempt to dock there.

Okay. How about life support, or any signs of life? Tom asked working the controls, both to slow the Flyer and bring it on course.

There is no life. Life support is below minimal requirements, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight stated neutrally. A Borg can operate for a short period without life support, she continued quietly looking at Twelve of Twenty. Of the Borg survivors, only he was still an operational Borg. It may be possible to flood the vessel with air from the reserve tanks and chemical resusicators.

I will require six minutes to ascertain if additional life support can be activated.

  


Twelve of Twenty was as good as his word. Six minutes after the Flyer clanged forcefully against the docking port his gaunt frame appeared at the airlock.

I have been able to activate some life support systems, he announced. They are adequate for the purpose, but insufficient for prolonged exposure. You will require some minutes to acclimatise. There are no lights.

We haven't got the time, Tom observed, mindful of the ticking clock. Twenty three minutes of their precious hour had already passed them by. We'll take breathers.

He donned his then stood aside to allow Fourteen of Twenty-Eight to leave.

We will need to climb two decks, she said, leading the way. The main assimilation chambers are on the central circumference.

They followed in single file, with Twelve of Twenty at the rear. There had obviously been some carnage aboard this ship, Tom surmised, as he played his torch over the silent alcoves wondering where their ex-inhabitants were.

He stopped wondering when he fell over a decomposing body. He picked himself up, then realised his hand was in something wet and sticky.

Idly he checked his hand, for a moment he almost panicked, thinking it was covered in blood, before finding it was a warm jelly like substance. He shook his hand in disgust, then wiped it firmly on his jacket as it started to itch. What is this stuff? He asked as the torch caught more of it dripping from the walls.

Fourteen of Twenty-Eight admitted. We should continue, quickly.

As they continued, Tom Paris became aware of thin whistle. It had no discernible direction, but came from everywhere. With the increasing incidence of the strange red goo sliding down the walls and splashing underfoot, he became uneasy and reached for his phasor. How much further? He asked. I don't like this place.

Fourteen of Twenty-Eight did not answer. Instead her pace increased, until she rounded a corner into a small vestibule. What we are seeking will be in one of these containers, she announced, starting to pull the lids from a pile of containers. Thirteen of Twenty-Eight, you will observe from the doorway. Twelve of Twenty will assist in the search.

Where is Twelve? Tom demanded, nursing the hand that had been covered with gel. It was still itching whilst the ex-drone had disappeared and the whistle had become louder, forcing him to raise his voice.

There is insufficient time to search. We require a black containment unit 200mm square, 100mm thick. Assist me, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight demanded, starting to pull unidentifiable blocks from the containers.

This it? Tom shouted, waving a container like the one Fourteen of Twenty-Eight had described. He was now forced to shout, the whistle had become so loud it was pulsating, making his head spin.

Affirmative! We should leave. Immediately! Fourteen of Twenty-Eight screamed back, staggering for the door.

Tom knew there was something wrong, that Fourteen of Twenty-Eight knew more than she was telling, but his mind simply refused to respond. He staggered after her as she fled blindly down the corridor.

He did see a large drip of gel form on the ceiling ahead, and tried to scream a warning, just as he tried to lift his phasor. Neither worked and he watched in remote horror as it dropped in front of Fourteen of Twenty-Eight in a big heap, wrapping itself around her legs, tripping her. He also saw a red mound, like a huge sea swell, rolling up and over the fallen drone. Finally he managed to bring the phasor up and fired.

The mound disappeared, rolling back the way it had come. 

The whistle also stopped, as if cut off, leaving Tom Paris staggering like a drunk, dizzy from the release into near total silence whilst his own head still rang. 

Just as suddenly as the noise returned. This time the volume was trebled in intensity. Desperately Tom Paris tried to damp it by grabbing his head with both hands, twisting it this way and that, screaming in his pain, until he staggered into the wall and collapsed.

He did not notice Thirteen of Twenty-Eight picking both him and Fourteen of Twenty-Eight up and throwing them over his shoulders. He certainly did not feel being thrown through the door of the Flyer by the man mountain before he also collapsed, blood oozing from his ears.

  


Unlike Fourteen of Twenty-Eight, Twelve of Twenty knew exactly what the whistle and the red gel belonged too. It was the bio-kinetic digestive slime from a Phalm; A Neurogenic lifeform; a single celled organism of unique and potentially incomprehensible destructive power. Especially designed by his race, the Brannags, for the purpose of destroying crews, their ships and eventually any other vessel they came into contact with. 

As a new secret weapon the Phalm had to be tested. The Borg with their unique inter-linking and collective knowledge formed an excellent first test. Could their fabled adaptability be able to develop a means of combating the Phalm, or would the Phalm destroy their vessel before they realised its nature.

Twelve of Twenty was a Phalmer, a controller of Phalms, one of six chosen to be carefully adapted with modified Borg implants and smuggled aboard Borg ships to test this new weapon. 

His own mission had been a failure. There had not been time for the spore to germinate before the Borg ship he had been inserted upon was struck by the Ion storm that had destroyed it. 

It had been why he had refused to have the Borg implants removed. Partly because their original insertion had hurt, but also because the modifications that prevented him being assimilated into the Borg Collective, would almost certainly have been identified by Fourteen of Twenty-Eight, if not by the holographic doctor aboard Voyager, the secret had to be kept.

The consequences of a Phalm, or any of the attendant equipment, being found would be catastrophic. There were far more powerful races than the Brannags and the Phalm took time to operate. It was very much a covert weapon of terror.

It was not, therefore, concern for Seven of Nine's continued existence that had led him to volunteer for the mission. But the fear of discovery if the sphere had proved to be the one he had been placed upon. 

It had been with a mixture of disappointment and relief that the sphere had not been his own. His subsequent continuation as a volunteer had merely been an attempt to continue his cover. Finding the tell tale red gel and semi-digested remains of a dead Borg had put him back on alert. The central nucleus would have to be recovered and the ship destroyed. Possibly with the other members of the away team, should they realise what was happening.

Slipping away from the hurrying party had been easy. He had simply stopped hurrying. Now he activated one of those modified devices embedded inside his Borg neural link and looked for the signals that would guide him in the direction of the nucleus.

He very soon realised there was a problem, when not one but four nuclei showed on his sensor. It was either developing more quickly than it ought, or the radiation was affecting the sensor and it was receiving spurious signals. He hoped it was the later as he set out for the nearest.

Collecting a single nucleus was straight forward, another of the modified Borg implants emitted a low resonance EMF pulse that would protect him from attack by the gel. Second generation Phalms, were a little more difficult to trap, as without the nucleus to control it, the first would eventually cease to respond to the pulse. But with third and subsequent generations there was an increasing risk that the programming that responded to the pulse would become corrupted. Trapping a nucleus was, from there on, a dangerous affair.

He found the first less than 200 metres from where he had left the rest of the away team. It was sat in the centre of a convergence of six companionways. In the torch light it looked like a black peanut, nearly a hand width across. He guessed it was within an hour or two of dividing.

Forcing it into a containment pouch was a matter of seconds. He would have to consider a method of concealing the pouch from the others later. 

The careful removal of all traces of the gel, before it started to burn, took another three minutes, as he continued to follow the signals. 

He was also having to track the passing of time. The others would be in the central assimilation chamber by now. Even though this was not her ship, it would not take Fourteen of Twenty-Eight more than five or six minutes to find a cassette of cortical nodes.

The second nucleus was found less than two minutes later and also pushed into a pouch. It left Twelve of Twenty near the power core of the sphere. The next nucleus was at least two decks above. There was not going to be time to reach it before the away team returned to the Delta Flyer. The gel was also starting to stick to his boots a sure sign that his protection was failing. It was time to leave. But not before the remaining evidence and the remote chance of the Phalm extending their reach further had been obliterated.

He approached the dead power core and removed the inlet manifold from what had been the anti-matter injector. From his belt, he withdrew a small phial the length and diameter of a finger and cracked the top before pushing it inside and refitting the manifold. No matter how drained the system was of anti-matter, there was always a trace of radiation left, or so it was claimed. The fluid in the phial, another genetically designed amoeba, known as a Geisha, would begin to divide using that residual radiation from the power chamber as a catalyst, absorbing and reproducing the radiation until it reached a mass that it formed a power source of its own. It would take a few hours, but the resultant explosion would destroy everything within tens of thousands of kilometres of the sphere. 

He set off back the way he had come. Hurrying now, anxious that he should return to the shuttle before the others.

Twelve of Twenty sensed more than heard the sudden change in the whistling noise that Tom Paris had found so debilitating. He had a fair idea what it meant as well. The Phalm had been stimulated. Not hurt, it was too simple an organism to feel pain, or emotions like revenge and anger, unfortunately those terms would explain its response. He started to run.

As Twelve of Twenty turned into the final companionway leading to the docking bay, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. In alarm he looked back. Speeding down the corridor was a wave of red ooze. With no where to duck out of its way and no time to reach the marginal safety of the Delta Flyer, all he could do was watch as the wave caught him, sucking him under its bulk.

For a few seconds everything went dark, then he was free but covered with slime, as the wave continued its wild charge down the corridor. He had a moment to wipe the ooze from his eyes then witnessed the wave smash into the door of the Delta Flyer's airlock.

It struck with enough force to dislodge the shuttle from its tentative grip with the Borg sphere and the remains of the air whooshed out, taking Twelve of Twenty with it.

He did not go far. He had been almost knee deep in the sticky slime and it stretched into a long streamer, until he was brought to stop some 100 metres from the sphere.

  


Tom Paris awoke with a scream. His face and hands felt as if they were on fire. Through half closed eyes he could see his hands were red raw where the gel had started to dissolve the skin. Grabbing the medi-kit was a mistake. It made him scream in agony again as the cold plastic bit into raw nerves. He had to steel himself to use the medi-spray. The metal device was going to be far worse to handle than the plastic box. But the pain from the pain relieving spray made him swoon.

It was a full ten minutes before he had recovered enough to take interest in his surrounds again.

The two ex-Borgs, Fourteen and Thirteen of Twenty-Eight, lay on the floor beside him, where they had fallen. Both showing the same searing burns as he had; possibly even worse in the case of Fourteen. But there was still no sign of Twelve of Twenty.

He would have to find his own way back, Tom decided uncharitably, kneeling up to examine the remains of his small crew.

It quickly became evident that Fourteen of Twenty-Eight was going to need far more treatment than the Delta Flyer's small medical kit could supply. The burning had penetrated the sub-dermal layer. Tom did the only thing he could, he sedated her, heavily.

Thirteen was better off. The burns were more superficial than they looked. He was not going to be able to repair the ear drums shattered by the incredible noise. His own ears were still ringing from that as well. 

He did what he could, then looked towards the door, wondering if he should at least look for Twelve of Twenty. If he had been caught by the gel then he was going to be in a far worse state than they were, if he was still alive.

It was only when he tried to open the door and it had remained stubbornly shut that he realised that the Flyer was no longer attached to the Borg sphere. Sinking into his chair he considered the position.

The Flyer was over an hour late in leaving. At best the power reserves would last another four hours. There was no way that the impulse drive would be able to provide the power required to get them out of the Nebula before power failed. It was doubtful if Voyager would be able to arrive in time either, unless they had already set out to rescue them. 

Strangely he felt no panic or alarm at the realisation. Just disappointment and anger that he had failed in a mission he had started to help somebody.

Captain Janeway would often throw the whole resources of her ship at the problem of rescuing a member of her crew, Tom had seen it. The Colonel frequently showed the same single-mindedness, risking everything, especially his life, to achieve the same. But the reasons had always passed him by. It was not because he did not care. Just that the level of what he was prepared to give was lower than others. He mattered to him. Marriage to B'Elanna, had started to change his attitudes, now he had to take the feelings of others into account. But this was still a new sensation to Tom Paris, the erstwhile flighty, insincere and feckless Starship pilot. He was feeling the failure. It was personal and it was making him angry and more determined. There had to be a way out of their predicament.

Perhaps, he wondered, if he dropped the modified shields, he could use continuous impulse power, at least until the power gave out, instead of a short burst to get them underway. They would then be restricted to the survival suits for a few hours. He was not an engineer, the science of propulsion was another subject he flunked at the Academy, along with power conservation, much to the chagrin of his father. The extra speed provided by the continuous use of impulse would barely add 15% to their speed and use 80% more of the precious power than the carefully calculated burn. To him the idea had potential, if not the probability of success.

What is it the Colonel says? He muttered. Whatever you do make a decision and act. If you don't, you'll die anyhow. Well it looks as if he is right. Again.

It was then that he noticed the red strand that still attached the Delta Flyer to the sphere. It seemed a small problem, the strand was thin, barely 100mm in diameter. He guessed, it would snap when stretched far enough. 

Tracing the thin umbilical back to the sphere, Tom sighted Twelve of Twenty, still tethered to the sphere. Surprisingly he was still moving.

At least he could do something about that, Tom decided grimly engaging thrusters. 

Slowly he edged the Flyer back towards the stricken Borg and activated the airlock.

  


I'm surprised you didn't make sure you happened to aboard the Flyer when it left, Colonel? Captain Janeway suggested nervously to Colonel Samuels as he gazed out of the window on the forward promenade.

She repeated as the Colonel continued to stare, as if mesmerised by the syncopative concert of swirling multi-coloured clouds of the Nebula as they slipped past.

He turned and gazed blankly at her, the salute equally as loose. I'm sorry, Ma'am. I did hear you. It's just I wasn't sure how to respond, he apologised unhappily. Would it help if I admitted I tried and was caught by Commander Chakotay? He made it very clear I was not wanted and had me escorted here by three security teams. He said Voyager has had dangerous missions before and has come through.

That is true, the Captain agreed, joining him at the window. But they've seemed less dangerous recently. You know the Flyer is late?

So I believe, Ma'am.

And the only vessel we can see in this soup, she gestured broadly at the display, is the Borg ship?

The Flyer is a small craft, the Colonel pointed out.

If it was free, we would see it! The Captain protested vehemently. We've redesigned, reworked and calibrated the sensors. There is nothing in there but the Sphere.

So you think the Flyer is still close to the Borg ship and Mr Paris is in trouble? The Colonel suggested shrewdly. You want my help to go and have a look? Perhaps using the Valoria? Not very sensible is it, Lieutenant? I distinctly recall being told by one of the engineers that the Valoria's shields could not be modified to work in this 'Soup'. Her power systems wouldn't last long enough to get out.

But the type 2's shields will work, the Captain suggested mildly. I had B'Elanna modify them in case we needed it. I will need a crew I can trust?

The Colonel seemed to consider this for a moment. I can think of better crewmen to take, Ma'am, he opined slowly. I'm sorry Ma'am, but I will not help you to kill yourself, he dismissed the idea before turning for the door.

He was caught and spun by the furious Captain. Don't you see I can't risk the ship for them. Not even for Seven! It was my mistake agreeing in the first place. I have to take the shuttle in to collect the crew of the flyer and I will go alone if I have to. But I will need help. Help from some one who does ignore the rules, she pleaded. B'Elanna has loaded reserve power packs. Even if they are only half charged by the time I get to the Flyer, they will still give us time to get out.

Silently he prised her fingers from his sleeve and continued to march for the door.

The Captain sprang after him with a scream, infuriated by his silence intent on bringing him to answer her charges. If she could have trusted anybody aboard the ship to help her in her need it was the Colonel. Except he was ready for her attack. He span, catching her on the side of the head with a ham sized fist that sent her sprawling. Before she could recover he was kneeling on her back.

I will do anything to keep the ship and my small band of friends safe, he hissed. I count you as one of them. That is why you aren't going! Just make sure I am allowed out! I'll be ready in forty minutes.

And if it's a technical problem, she gasped.

I'll take an axe, he promised.

  


The door to the Science Lab swished open to reveal the towering frame of Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels. Doctor Hansen had expected him, sooner or later and she steeled herself for what was to come, gripping the phasor she had purloined and hidden under the console. He was not an intelligent creature and would resort to violence.

You can put the weapon down, Doctor. You aren't nearly good enough with it, the Colonel barked with certainty and stepping toward her. If I had come for revenge you would be dead long before you could aim it. I'm not even going to ask what you did to her and I'm going to leave the why until later as well.

The purpose of your visit? Doctor Hansen demanded, somewhat surprised and bringing the phasor up to point directly at the Colonel.

He ignored the phasor and her, as he consulted a PADD and strolled around the console towards her. She guessed he was doing it for show and followed him, keeping the phasor levelled.

It says here, that you knew a little about plasma fields and engines. When you were at the Academy and before you tried being a biologist, he commented. His hand came out and gripped the phasor, twisting it out of her hand. A tip, Ma'am. If you are going to wave a gun at people. Use it before they come close enough to take it away. Personally I take an exception to having weapons pointed at me. Now as I was saying..

I have basic knowledge of propulsion systems, Doctor Hansen admitted. I am an exo-biologist.

Good enough. I don't have that much. Now, I would like a little help? The Colonel admitted.

The nature of this assistance? The Doctor demanded, she could feel a trap being woven around her, but was unsure of how to extradite herself.

I need a pilot who knows what is happening, has nothing to lose, everything to gain and it won't upset anybody.

You are intending to attempt to rescue the crew of the Delta Flyer! Doctor Hansen expostulated. The ship has pilots capable of that task!

Yes. But it is dangerous enough for the Captain to be gnawing her comm badge. If I shanghied a half competent driver, somebody would complain, the Colonel observed. You, on the other hand, won't be missed until its too late and don't have to follow the regulations quite so close. And as the reason I need a pilot is at least in part your fault.

The damage that caused Annaka to collapse occurred prior to our meeting, Doctor Hansen complained. She would suffer a similar failure.

Aye. Perhaps she would, the Colonel agreed mildly. Perhaps it's the reason I haven't bundled you out of an airlock with me. But she is also your daughter. That makes you family and gives us duties and responsibilities. I thought you might like to help make amends.

If I refuse?

Regrettably, you don't have a choice and we will probably both die. In one sudden movement he gripped her arm, twisted it and pushed it firmly up behind her back. If you come voluntarily, we can both think about survival? He whispered.

  


Captain Janeway was both angry and worried, Chakotay knew it. Her jaw was jutting and she kept subconsciously feeling for the intercom badge on her breast. She was coming to a decision that he was not going to like. 

The sensor scans they could make into the Nebula suggested that the Flyer had not left the Borg sphere and by the mission plan it was overdue to have done so by more than an hour. It was getting to the point where it would not escape with its crew alive.

The shuttle has left the hanger, Captain. Two occupants. Colonel Samuels and Doctor Hansen. Ensign Kim announced breaking the strained silence.

The Chakotay demanded hopefully.

The Captain broke with the nervous twiddling. Belay that! She countered

Kim shook his head. I couldn't if I wanted to, he admitted. They went to warp as they left. They are entering the Nebula!

At Warp! They'll blow up! On screen! Chakotay hissed.

They dropped from warp as they entered, Kim commented obeying the command, though there was little to see apart from a swirl of multicoloured cloud where the shuttle had entered. They should be with the Borg ship in a few hours.

He returned the main screen to the sensor tactical display to display the new dot of the shuttle heading for the sphere.

They are progressing under full impulse power, Tuvok observed calmly. Their power reserves will be depleted in four hours if the condition is maintained.

  


You should disengage impulse and engage shields, Doctor Hansen recommended. Our power reserves will be depleted before we reach the Delta Flyer otherwise.

It will not make more than twelve minutes difference in our arrival time, she added.

Very good, Ma'am, he acknowledged with limited grace.

He sat and studied the controls in silence for several minutes before speaking again.

You know, I used to hate kids with parents, he commented quietly. They always had somebody that encouraged them to be something more, then looked after them and wipe away the tears if they failed. All I ever got was a beating for being late. I know you don't approve of me, Ma'am. That is fair enough, you might be right. But why are you trying to take it out on her? Why can't you just accept that she has made a choice and be there for her when she realises the size of her mistake, like all those mothers I used to hate?

I have observed errors in her approach and attitude, they require correction, the Doctor excused.

Like who she is? He challenged. She decided upon Seven of Nine, because she didn't want to remember who she was before. It was painful, pointless and lonely.

We loved Annaka. We cared for her!

But not at the expense of the days interest? He snapped.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

You have plans to ensure our survival? Doctor Hansen asked, desperate to change the subject.

Nope. We wait and find out what is wrong. Then we do what I am infamous for, he grinned evilly at the worried and questioning frown. We react illogically!

  


Things were definitely going badly, Tom Paris accepted. 

In a desperate bid to conserve power he had terminated all of his small ship's instruments and reduced life support to a minimum more than an hour ago. Now he sat in the dark, despondent and shivering, a thermal blanket around him, hoping that Voyager was on its way and would be arrive before the last of the power cells gave out. Wondering what else he could have tried.

The red strand that clung to the hull with the tenacious grip of a Neelix treacle tart, possessed the tensile strength of Tri-cobalt Titanium and the elasticity of rubber. He had spent a full fifteen minutes with the small craft at full impulse trying to snap it. The act, apart from reducing emergency power to dangerously low levels, had had no noticeable effect.

The strand had also proven resistive to phasor fire. He had spent thirty minutes in a suit trying to burn through with one. It sparked, burnt and became a deeper colour. But that was it.

Worse still the strand that held the Flyer to the Borg ship was thickening and starting to extend its grip.

Fourteen of Twenty-Eight had woken briefly an hour ago, but had been in such pain he had had no choice other than sedate her again. Rather than face the terrifying agony again Tom had also sedated Thirteen. Both he and they would have to face it next time, there was no more sedative and he could not afford the power to replicate additional supplies.

Twelve of Twenty was still unconscious. Fortunately that was due to exceeding the limits of Borg abilities to withstand vacuum, rather than the physical burns from contact with the red ooze. The limited damage had puzzled Tom when he had wrapped the Borg in a heated blanket. The ex-Borg must have been engulfed in the gel, yet apart from some redness, there was no sign of the horrific burns showed by the others. He ignored the discrepancy in favour of the preferable hope that he would wake soon.

His was startled from his deep revere by a figure fleetingly appearing at the window. He blinked in surprise, grappling for the environmental controls, certain he had begun to hallucinate in the weak atmosphere. Something banged hard at the door, before the figure, complete in space suit reappeared at the window, gesticulating wildly.

Still in a daze at the sudden action, Tom cycled the airlock and saw two figures entering, each bearing a heavy case.

The taller of the two figures tore his helmet off and grinned at him. You the gent that ordered a pizza? There's an extra charge for out of town deliveries and the guarantees off. Now help Doctor Hansen get these power cell thingies installed and find me a decent mug of tea. Jump to it, Lieutenant. We haven't got all day! Chop, Chop!

Faced with the sudden and relentless wall of humour and command, Tom dived to comply, wrestling with the canisters holding the power cells, whilst the Colonel bent to examine the casualties.

Doctor. Can you get this lump activated? The Colonel demanded, kneeling beside Twelve of Twenty. He's not hurt, so he might as well help.

Finally he sat back in a chair and grasped the mug Tom offered in compliance to the last of his commands. Now Lieutenant. Tell me about this red string that you've tied yourself up in, what you've done about it and what you would like us to do?

I don't know what it is! Tom blustered. It was all over the sphere and whistled until we couldn't think, then it attacked. I think Fourteen knows what it is.

It is a Phalm. A protozoa that feeds on flesh, Twelve of Twenty commented quietly from where he lay towards the back of the cabin. It will destroy this ship to get proteins.

Jolly good, Mister Twenty, the Colonel accepted. As you know about it, what do we do to persuade it to let go?

When it reaches this size it cannot be killed. We should abandon the vessel.

This is your tub and crew, Lieutenant, The Colonel ignored the protestation and turned on Tom. Do you wish to abandon ship. Can we move the other two?

If we can get them into a lifepod, perhaps we could tow it across? Tom suggested. But I wouldn't like to put a suit on Thirteen. I don't think they stretch that far!

Then see what you can do, the Colonel agreed. Doctor I suspect you would like a sample of the red stuff. So while we're waiting we'll collect some?

Before Doctor Hansen could make a reply he had bundled her into the rear cabin.

I do not wish a sample! She hissed furiously. Without the nucleus the material is of no scientific interest!

You'll just have to improvise, the Colonel smiled. That is what we do best. But there is something wrong. You don't know what it is, but Twelve of Twenty seems to know lots. Strange for a systems technician to know more than a biologist. Especially if he has been a Borg for some years. You didn't reactivate him either did you?

It was not necessary. He was in the terminal stages of reactivation, the Doctor affirmed.

I'm sure there is a perfectly valid reason. So if you've got your jam jar, we'll see what we can put in it? The Colonel accepted.

  


It took over an hour to ferry everything required from the Flyer to the shuttle. The task of fitting Thirteen of Twenty-Eight into an emergency life pod and manhandling the device into the shuttle taking most of it, leaving them all exhausted. They allowed themselves a few minutes to rest before setting off. All the time Twelve of Twenty kept looking up at the sphere and making surreptitious glances at the shuttles sensor readouts. The build up of power from the Geisha was starting to register, even on the crippled sensors, it was only a matter of time before it became uncontrolled.

Leave something behind, Mister Twenty? The Colonel enquired politely, noticing the ex-Borgs glances. I don't think we are in any condition to look if you have. His own eyes followed the gaze of Twelve of Twenty's in time to see the cube suddenly bathe itself in green light as normal power was resumed for a few seconds, then go dark in a sea of sparks as it fused.

Lieutenant! Drive! He called in alarm, diving forward and slapping shield controls. Get us out of here!

Before Tom Paris could respond the sphere exploded. At first there was no plume of conflagration, simply debris thrown violently. Then a red glow appeared in what had been the core of the ship. It grew and brightened to a searing white.

By this time Tom had engaged full impulse and had spun the shuttle away.

The shockwave caught them, sending the small craft and its occupants tumbling.

We're losing power! Tom called, alone of the occupants he had managed to maintain his seat and was desperately attempting to control direction.

Keep going! The Colonel growled, heaving himself upright using the bulkhead he had been thrown against.

Doctor Hansen squeezed herself behind the sensor suite panel and caught her breath. The explosion has formed a chain reaction within the nebula. The effect will catch the shuttle in six seconds!

If there is anything in the warp tanks. Now is a good time, Lieutenant!

But we'll blow up! Tom protested.

Gonna blow anyhow. Do it!

  


The shuttle has left the Borg sphere, moving at high speed, Tuvok commented calmly.

Captain Janeway sighed in relief. Apart from a short break to visit Seven of Nine, to break the news her husband had set off to rescue the Delta Flyer, she had been sat in her command chair, lost in preoccupation since the shuttle had entered the nebula. I guess it was easier than he expected. He will be disappointed, she muttered, then noticed what was in her hand. But not for me. I think I am going to have to replicate a tougher uniform, she added softly to Chakotay holding out her hand to reveal her communicator, complete with a tuft of material from her jacket. I must have been playing with it since the shuttle went in?

Perhaps something in canvas, like the Colonel's flak jacket? Chakotay offered with a grin. I think after him it is the most indestructible thing on the ship!

Tuvok's next comment was more urgent. I am detecting a major power build up in the nebula itself. Centred on the Borg sphere. It is forming a protonic event. Level 12 shockwave is preceeding. It has engulfed the shuttle, the shuttle has gone. Impact Voyager 60 seconds.

For a ten seconds the Captain sat stunned as a fleck of lightening flashed across the screen, then burst into action. Shields up. All hands brace for impact. Pull us back, warp 2. We'll weather it when it hits. Then I want the shuttle!

The shuttle's gone, Kathryn! Chakotay whispered. We can't stand a level 12 shock without serious damage!

She turned a grim face to him. No it hasn't! She said. Not until I say it has! 

The shockwave struck them thirty tense seconds later, sending ship, crew and equipment flying.

Warp is down. Impulse is down, Winston at the helm called, glancing back. 

Without the benefit of a console to wedge against, the Captain had been thrown from her chair and had slid forcefully into the counterstep. She now lay, looking ashen, Chakotay kneeling beside her.

Don't move, Chakotay ordered thickly. Bridge to Sick Bay. Medical Emergency!

I have 19 Emergencies! the Doctor complained, and there are more coming in!

I'll be okay, she whispered struggling to rise. Give me a few minutes and find the shuttle!

Gently Chakotay helped her to her feet then caught her as she slumped, finally carrying her into the Ready Room and laid her on the couch. Why are you so intent on finding the shuttle? He asked.

I told him I wasn't going to risk the ship to rescue the others. He refused to go with me! She smiled ruefully. He thought it was too big a risk.

So he went instead. Taking Doctor Hansen, Chakotay finished for her. Talk of red rag to a bull. We'll find it, he promised heading for the door.

The task of finding the remains of the shuttle was easier than could have been expected. The first thing that was noticed as Tuvok brought the damaged sensor array online again was that the nebula had vanished, destroyed in its own inferno and condensed to a single small and black planet. The second was Tom Paris's voice asking to be picked up.

Chakotay took the good news back to the Captain who had managed to sit up, but still looked pale from shock. Did they get the nodes? She demanded getting unsteadily to her feet.

Chakotay nodded, then cautioned, Fourteen and Thirteen were both badly hurt. The Doctor will need to treat them first.

  


It took another hour to recover the wreck of the shuttle. Wreck was the right name, Chakotay decided. The nacelles had been jettisoned and much of the shuttles outer cladding ripped off, including the door which was covered by a flickering force field.

What happened? Chakotay demanded.

Tom Paris, tired and dishevelled looked around. We jettisoned the core and containment units just when they went critical. The panelling was ripped off in the explosion.

Well, Ma'am. Am I still an unthinking thug? The Colonel asked of Doctor Hansen, offering a hand to her as she stepped from the door.

You place yourself and others in danger, she observed coldly, ignoring the offered support. I have not yet calculated if such risks are acceptable.

He accepted the comment with a wan grin. I'm sure I'll hear the results. If you'll excuse me? He saluted and headed for the shuttle bay door at high speed.

  


The Doctor examined the phial on the bench in sickbay intently. Under Fourteen of Twenty-Eight's instruction, he deposited one of the rescued node seeds into the phial along with several thousand of Seven of Nine's nanoprobes, some six hours previously. Satisfied the item that had been generated was about ready. He took it to Fourteen of Twenty-Eight for further advice.

Fourteen of Twenty-Eights burns had been too critical to cure in the time available, but her assistance was critical for the operation of saving Seven of Nine to suceed. Though in ways the Doctor was finding difficult to understand, it was irritating to need to take each step under the supervision of another.

The regeneration is complete! He announced firmly. Neutrenal transfer is operating to within 3% of the original.

Satisfactory. The unit should be inserted as we previously discussed, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight hissed, still in some pain. The patient must not be activated for at least six hours, whilst final programming is completed. The child may then be delivered. I will need to regenerate before that. You may sedate me.

That task done the Doctor returned to Seven of Nine. Carefully extracting the cranial housing and splitting to fit the new node. The whole operation took less than thirty minutes and he stood back to watch nervously. Finding that he had suddenly developed the human habit of crossing his fingers for luck, he purposefully uncrossed them and deactivated, time was less troublesome that way.

  


There was much nervous waiting. The Captain spent much of the time listlessly wandering the ship's corridors, unable to settle as she waited for the Doctor to finish on Seven of Nine. She wondered how the Colonel was coping. She knew he had been chased from Sick Bay, when the Doctor had started. From there he had seemingly vanished.

Equipped for a purpose she looked for him. Finally finding him in the forward observation room, absently gazing out the window again.

Would you like some company? She offered quietly. I'm learning to listen?

He turned and offered a weak smile. I know that line. Mrs Nine has used it on me, he commented, then sighed deeply. I was wondering about technology, Ma'am. All my life I've either used it or fought it, often both at the same time. I've never considered it really essential to my happiness.

She looked at him quizzically. She had not expected a philosophical debate. We would be lost without it, she opined.

Sat here, in a metal box, millions of miles above the ground. Yes! But it is not there to make you happy or content. Just to keep you alive, Ma'am. You don't think about it!

The Doctor and Miss Fourteen of Twenty-Eight told me that this Cortical Node thing controls everything that makes Mrs Nine what she is. Her memories, thoughts, her very soul everything is controlled by a metal maggot barely an inch square, the Colonel continued. What happens when it is replaced? Will she remember what she had, was, or even us?

I think you are worrying too much, the Captain encouraged hopefully. She had heard the remark as well. I think Seven would remember you even if she forgot everything else. Besides there is the baby?

I don't care about the baby! The Colonel exploded in sudden fury.

She took a step back in alarm. You don't mean that!

The Colonel nodded, taking control of himself. It is selfish I know. But don't you see? Mrs Nine is my here and now! He explained desperately. Ultimately she is why I am here and not on Earth shouting at squady's, or more probably feeding ducks on the Serpentine. A spare and useless part in a sardine tin God knows how many miles away from where I belonged! The baby isn't part of my life. When it is born. Yes, I'll care for it. That will be my duty. Honour will make me as good a parent as I can be. But it won't be the same without my wife. I wouldn't know how to persuade her to love me again, because I failed in what I promised! The one time she really needed me and all I did was stand and watch!

It won't be that bad! the Captain protested angrily. She will remember! And it's not just you that will have to start from scratch! I will too and she has even less reason to start!

It was the Colonel's turn to take a step back as she continued. I'm scared too! Seven has been more than a challenge. Trying to guide her in finding her 'humanity', then finding that you did more for her quicker and more naturally than I could ever do. She means as much to me as she would if she were a daughter!

My apologies, Ma'am, the Colonel murmered looking down at his wringing hands. I should have guessed and controlled myself better. Perhaps we can face the problem together? The Doctor should be ready about now?

He offered an arm, which she accepted.

  


The Doctor looked tense when they arrived. He had found it impossible to remain deactivated and had repeatedly reappeared to check progress. Tersely he explained what should happen. Again he found he was crossing his fingers. Again he deliberately uncrossed them. Not before the act had been spotted by an eagle-eyed Colonel.

You've done what you can, Doctor, he soothed. Let's give it a whirl?

Seven of Nine awoke with a start as the hypo-spray was injected. Her head rocking as she glanced around in wide eyed alarm, until finally coming to rest on the first human in site, a tall green clad male who was holding her hand firmly in both of his. 

My designation and status? She demanded, trying to pull her hand away.

Status is poorly. Designation is Seven of Nine. Welcome back sweetheart, the Colonel duly supplied, holding on.

It left Seven of Nine confused. Designation 'Seven of Nine. Welcome back sweetheart' does not compute. Define.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten under his breath before trying again. Your name is Seven of Nine.

She seemed less than happy. Your designation and authority?

Lieutenant-Colonel Alan Samuels. Authority, husband? He offered, finally letting the hand slip from his grasp as she stopped struggling to remove it.

Unacceptable. Borg do not have husbands, she said with finality. Then noticed the movement of the baby. The growth?

It is our child, the Colonel whispered. Please remember. We wanted one!

Borg are incapable of giving birth. It should be removed and terminated, she demanded angrily.

Not on your life. It's what you wanted up until two days ago, he urged. The Doctor is going to remove it shortly. But it is our baby.

I have been pregnant? She said slowly. She seemed less certain as the news started to sink in. You are the biological partner?

The baby kicked violently and Seven of Nine spasmed in pain as a contraction hit her.

It must be removed. Please!

Doctor. I think it's your turn, the Colonel called, bringing the Doctor in from outside the bay. Mrs Nine wants the baby out and her body is agreeing.

I'll be here, he whispered encouragingly as the sensor shroud wrapped her midrift.

Reluctantly the Colonel withdrew and waited until the distressed Doctor returned a few minutes later. She won't look at it! He complained. Unless she injects her with a node and her probes the baby will die!

Can I do it? The Colonel offered.

It has got to be Seven, the Doctor insisted. Yours will attempt to assimilate the child.

Come on then. She's really going to hate me for this, the Colonel sighed. Bring the babe.

It is not mine! Seven of Nine screamed in fury as the Colonel gripped and twisted her left hand to bring her assimilation tubules in line with the infants neck.

Only if the Doctors done a swap, the Colonel grunted as he struggled to find the activation trigger. If he has I'll kill him. Now there!

The tubes slid out and struck their target for two whole seconds before Seven of Nine could regain control and retract them. The baby screamed in protest.

The Colonel asked.

Done. I'll just get her wrapped properly.

For a few minutes the Colonel and Seven of Nine were left on their own.

It had to be done, he whispered, stroking her hair softly. Perhaps you will forgive me, one day?

She turned her head away from him and lay in silence until the Captain entered bearing the small bundle. I can see the family resemblence, she offered happily. Right down to the implant. Pity its on the wrong eye. She offered the small bundle to the Colonel to take.

Her mothers eye's and a blonde as well, he sighed offering it to Seven. Our daughter?

Borg do not have children! She snapped.

Silently the Colonel stood and walked towards the door, the baby still in his arms.

His place was taken by the Captain. You are not a Borg, she hissed urgently. You are unique. I've lost two shuttles to get you back in one piece. At least you can be a little grateful. Until you have had a chance to remember, you will remain in Sick Bay. Perhaps your records will help.? She stood and hurried after the Colonel, leaving Seven of Nine alone.

  


  


  



	7. All's Well That Ends Well (New 12 July ...

**All's Well That Ends Well**

_Voyager loses a couple of her passengers and the ship is stolen along with her newest crewman._

_Voyager and the characters aboard her (except the Colonel and additional characters) in this story are copyright of Paramount. No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead._

_The story line and the Colonel are my own._

_Constructive criticism and comments are welcome on e-mail story@rgower.plus.com _

_If like me you like to know why things occur like they do, I would heartily recommend you start at chapter 1-01 Castaway. _

_This story is rated PG13 _

_©R Gower 2002_

  


"When are you going to name the baby?" Chakotay enquired hopefully, falling into step with Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels as he quick marched down the corridor. The Samuels' baby had been in the galaxy for three days and was still sans a name, it was causing concern in several quarters.

Politely the Colonel slowed to allow the commander to keep up. "Do you want your candidates listed with the rest, Sir?" He asked sourly, reaching into his breast pocket for the habitual notebook. "I'll supply them all to Ms Nine. I'll let her choose when she starts talking to me again. If she doesn't, perhaps I can put them in my hat and hold a prize draw?"

"No," Chakotay appeased quickly, realising he had hit a raw nerve. Then, almost anything said to the soldier hit a raw nerve at present, no matter how sympathetic. "Are you still having trouble with Seven?"

"She thinks I'm the lowest form of life in the Galaxy at the moment, Sir," the Colonel admitted sadly. "I don't think she's forgiven me for milking her 'probes."

"You know if there is anything we can do?" Chakotay began.

"It is something we have sort out for ourselves," the Colonel snapped.

He eased a little at Chakotay's ashen face. "It's like having a house of cards knocked down and having to rebuild it again," he explained wistfully. "The only trouble is, I haven't a clue how I built it to start with." 

"And everybody is more worried about the baby, than they are about her mother," he added under his breath as together they entered the Mess.

"And you?" Chakotay asked shrewdly.

"I get pitying looks and things go quiet," the Colonel observed with a grim smile. "Voila!" Around them the mess did indeed go quiet as they were noticed.

Except on one table where the occupants were slower than the rest. "Why doesn't the stupid idiot accept she's gone tap. She'll never be a mother. Takes over from hers!"

The silence became a lot deeper and ten degrees colder as the Colonel took the five strides that separated him from the table and the utterer of such malicious words.

"Crewman Jorrack," the Colonel whispered. Four fingers took the crewman under the chin and lifted, forcing the terrified crewman to stand, raising him on to his toes. "The only reason I am not throttling you with your own tongue," the Colonel continued. "Is because you are only repeating what a number of others in this fine company are saying. Unfortunately for you. You were stupid enough to say it in my hearing."

His voice rose to allow everybody hear his next words. "Mrs Nine. WILL RECOVER! SHE WILL BE THE BEST MOTHER ANY CHILD EVER HAD! I know she will. She's got to..." His voice faltered to a whisper and he dropped the crewman to the deck before turning and heading blindly for the door.

"Let him go!" Chakotay snapped as two security guards attempted to intercept. He turned an unsympathetic glare onto the gasping crewman. Unable to find anything to say he also turned for the door. Something was going to have to be done, the Colonel was starting to come apart.

  


The same problem was on the mind of Captain Janeway as she faced Thirteen of Twenty-Eight and the Doctor in her Ready Room. She was characteristically blunt about it. "Is there a fault in Seven's new node?"

Thirteen of Twenty-Eight and the Doctor looked at each other helplessly before admitting. "We do not know!"

"The new node is of a different configuration to any in my experience," Thirteen of Twenty-Eight explained. "Nor does it match the designs of the previous unit. We are attempting to chart the system. Though Seven of Nine is proving uncooperative."

"It is possible that Seven's own natural systems will start to take over eventually," the Doctor suggested optimistically.

"By that time I may not have a ship!" the Captain hissed. "You've seen the Colonel? And the delay isn't doing her or the baby any good either!"

"I know," the Doctor agreed hurriedly. "My Psychological Assessment suggests he should be confined to quarters and receive counselling. But I require your order to begin treatment. He won't accept voluntarily."

For a moment the Captain looked nonplussed. "The other day you were telling me that he was Seven's best chance," she observed quietly. "I also know that he dotes on his baby. It may be the cause of his state, but it is also the only thing keeping him under control. I think he has even emptied some of his pockets for diapers. Now you are saying I should split him away from both?"

"We can allow him visiting rights," the Doctor suggested.

The Captain clasped her head in her hands as her patience wore thin. Given the soldiers history, the Doctor's recommendation, no matter how correct, would be the last straw for the Colonel, tipping him very firmly from whatever perilous edge he was on. "No! Find another way to help all three, together," she drawled. "And I want to know why the baby has so much Borg anatomy."

"We are being hailed, Captain." Commander Tuvok's warning sounded, dragging the Captain to new problems.

"Who are they?" She sighed heading for the door.

"Single vessel, Captain," Tuvok affirmed as she strode onto the Bridge. "No weapons." Even he sounded surprised at that. Very few ships sailed the Delta Quadrant without some form of protection. "The vessel purports to be a private yacht from the planet Trafoil 3. They are requesting to communicate with somebody called Xenyacath?"

"On screen."

An elderly and obviously excited figure appeared, sporting the tulip shaped ears of Seven of Seven and Fourteen of Twenty-Eight, though the Captain guessed he was closer to Seven of Seven in stature.

"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway, commander of the Federation Star Ship Voyager. Can we help you?"

The figure seemed surprised for a moment, then rallied. "Yes. Yes. So silly of me. Forgive me. I was so excited by the news. I had to come and see for myself. Please, forgive me."

"See what?" The Captain asked in bewilderment. "Who are you?"

"Oh Yes. Introductions first. Forgive me. My name is Zerrathkal. I am the father of Xenyacath. She was taken by the Borg, you know. Then they said there was a strange ship in the sector that claimed to have a Borg refugee from Trafoil. I am praying she is aboard your ship. Please tell me it is true?" He babbled on.

At last the Captain had something to work with. "We have two people from Trafoil," she offered with a grin. "But we don't know who they were before they were assimilated."

"I have her medical records and a doctor," Zerrathkal responded immediately. "We can do the tests. Please, let us dock. I have to know!"

"We will beam you over," she offered. "Our Doctor will help with the testing. Voyager out!"

She turned and shrugged at Tuvok. "Bring Seven of Seven to my Ready Room. Then escort Zerrathkal up. The Doctor can compare the records while we wait."

  


Seven of Seven looked up at Captain Janeway, nervously gripping the hand of Fourteen of Twenty-Eight. "You believe you have found my father?"

"We think it is possible. The Doctor is comparing some medical details," the Captain grinned.

"He won't split us up will he?"

The Captain's confident air slammed into a brick wall. "I don't know. Why? Should he?"

"Fourteen is from a different planet. We don't think it is acceptable. Please. You won't let him?" Seven of Seven pleaded.

"What does Fourteen think?"

"If it is permitted I wish to stay with Seven, please, Captain," Fourteen rumbled.

"Well I can't do very much," the Captain pointed out gently. "But I'll help if I can." She placed an encouraging hand upon the young Trafoil's shoulder and squeezed fondly.

Behind them the Doctor entered with Zerrathkal . "I can happily announce that Seven of Seven is Xenyacath ," the Doctor declared standing aside. "Seven of Seven, meet your father, Zerrathkal."

For a moment there was silence as the two Trafoils regarded each other.

Slowly Zerrethkal held out his arms and stepped forward. "Xenyac. I thought I had lost you." He lunged forward and gathered her up in his arms. "They said the Borg ship and its crew had been destroyed, the navy had hunted it down. Your mother and everything and.." he sobbed.

Embarrassed the Captain gripped both the Doctor and Fourteen firmly and marched out of the room to leave them alone.

  


It was a full forty minutes before the door to the Ready Room opened again to reveal Zerrathkal.

"Thank you, Captain Janeway," he exclaimed and hugged her tightly. "For my daughter. There must be a means to repay you for your great kindness?"

Taken by surprise she attempted to pull away, embarrassed again. Finally she managed to wheeze, "No problem. I think Xenyacath wanted something?"

Zerrathkal released her and turned to regard Fourteen with a more serious face. "Xenyac claims you cared for her after your vessel crashed?"

Fourteen nodded slowly.

"You know she is not of age for another two cycles. Yet she wants you for a mate? And such matches are not normally permitted?"

Again a slow nod.

"You are prepared for the wait?"

"If you were to permit it Master."

The old man nodded solemnly, then grinned. "I need a stockman for the Habero. Would that be adequate employment for the wait?"

A slow grin formed on Fourteen of Twenty-Eight's own face. "Master."

"Excellent. I'm sure things will work out well. I will endeavour to find any of your living relatives."

"I can find similar accommodations for your other Borg, Captain. If that is what they wish. I also owe them a share in my fortune," Zerrathkal turned back to the Captain. "And I know how I can repay you for your kindness. It is Festival on Trafoil. Time of celebration. You and your crew must join me as guests for the festival. I will see to the legal niceties. I will have a docking prepared at the orbital station." 

"I don't know," the Captain pondered thoughtfully. "We need to keep going."

Zerrathkal was not going to be deterred. "We have a beautiful planet. Your ship is many cycles from home. Surely you can spare a few tens of days to rest and celebrate my good fortune. Then I can provide supplies to help your journey."

"It's very kind. But.." The Captain began.

"You think I cannot afford my boast?" Zerrathkal challenged laughingly. "I own fourteen industrial plants on Trafoil 3. Forty farm units on 7 and eighty cargo vessels. I am rich. But all I have of value is Xenyac. For the next twenty days, everybody is on holiday, we make Festival and everything is free."

"We'll stay a few days," the Captain agreed. "There are always a few repairs to make."

"You need repair? Good. My yard is at your disposal, after Festival. It is settled," Zerrathkal declared. "Come Xenyac. We make preparations for our guests. Your suitor should come to. We must find a good name for him, in case we cannot find his sires?"

His arm linked in Xenyacath's he stepped for the Turbo Lift, Fourteen of Twenty-Eight following closely, squeezing in beside them.

"Well there at least is a happy ending!" Tom Paris observed from his seat. "Follow them, Captain?"

"It looks like it," the Captain agreed taking her seat. "Carry on Tom. A few days off might do us all some good."

  


In Sick Bay the Colonel was again attempting to reach Seven of Nine. "Miss Nine, would you permit me to escort you to regeneration?" He asked quietly.

She continued to read the screen in front of her.

"Won't you even acknowledge my presence?" He pleaded.

She did look up then. "Your presence is unnecessary," she informed him. "I do not require regeneration at this time. Captain Janeway has designated security personnel to escort me to Cargo Bay 2. You should attend to your child."

"It's our daughter!"

"Irrelevant. Borg do not have offspring. You will leave now."

The Colonel's shoulders slumped in his defeat. Today had yielded the same response as the day before and the day before that. He grabbed the baby from its cot and a feeding bottle and left silently.

If the Doctor had witnessed the event he would have detained the soldier. The tears rolling down his face were too obvious.

Seven of Nine returned to studying her logs. The content was troubling her. They were undoubtedly factual, just illogical. They told her she had suffered at various times the ailments love and desire, even the comment from the Captain not to try and analyse the feelings made little sense. The Captain was normally quite precise about measuring events. Somewhere there was an error. She was beginning to wonder how far back the error had occurred. 

  


"Please, Ma'am. I need some help." The Colonel's wanderings, daughter in his arms, had led him to Science Lab 1 and the lair of Doctor Erin Hansen, formerly One of Three, Secondary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero-One.

"The subject?" Doctor Hansen demanded curiously. The Colonel's demeanour, clutching his hat in nervous fingers, was not what she had come to expect.

"Miss Annaka Hansen, Ma'am," he offered. "I want to learn more about her and her parents?"

"You have seen her records?" The Doctor suggested.

"They don't convey feelings, Ma'am."

"Your meaning?"

The Colonel sighed and settled on a table. "Mrs Nine was with me when I delivered a baby on a refugee ship. We only had it for a few hours, but she grew quite attached to that child. Then when she described the first time hers kicked to me, it did something new, or simply grew another inch, I used to laugh at her excitement. She even refused to let the Doctor tell us what sex it was going to be, so she could experience the anticipation," he explained. "There was no detached scientific interest in it, no matter what her logs look like. It was pure wonder and delight. She was a scared at times, granted. Like when it didn't do a double flip for a whole day. She was over the moon to be pregnant, Ma'am. It made her feel human. She was as desperate for that baby as I was. Now we've put the clock back ten years. I want to know how to correct it again."

"You believe I will be of assistance, or that I wish to be. You are irrational, impulsive and emotionally damaged. I consider you inadequate."

"Please, Ma'am," the Colonel pleaded. "I'm not asking for your sympathy. This ship is awash with it and it isn't helpful. I have a daughter without the most important member of her family. Her mother. I'll give up everything for her to have a parent, even more for her to have a mother. If there is anything left after that, then I'll ask for me."

Doctor Hansen still did not look impressed. "Perhaps there is a reason for your problem?" She suggested. "I have reviewed a number of the ships logs. You make suggestions, yet you expect others to carry them out as if they were orders. Borg require explicit orders. Annaka is unable to decipher your suggestions. Perhaps you should order her to care?"

"I have never and will never order Mrs Nine to do anything against her will!" The Colonel protested. "All I want to do is to remind her she wanted to be a mother. That she has become one and before it is too late and my daughter has to make do with me!" 

"I am in agreement that the baby's development is in danger, unless it is permitted to enter proper care." Doctor Hansen admitted, "Its well being is also of scientific interest. However I fail to comprehend the value of explaining Annaka's life before assimilation to you."

"Don't know if it will," the Colonel admitted. "But Mrs Nine would have told you, 'a problem shared, is a problem halved'."

"It is an expression she learnt from you," Doctor Hansen observed. "Perhaps you should explain your interaction with Annaka. Where do you wish to start?"

"Perhaps you should feed the baby and return it for regeneration first?" She suggested as the babe started to grizzle.

The Colonel's distressed face softened. "Actually. If you could hold her for a mo. I've got everything we need here, in my pockets?"

He pushed the small bundle into her arms and started to pull baby implements from cavernous pockets. 

  


Lunch time the following day saw a jubilant Voyager crew.

Zerrathkal had been true to his word in arranging freedom for his out of sector visitors to spend time upon Trafoil.

Just for once, there were no essential repairs to be made either. So the Captain, after gentle prompting from Neelix and Chakotay, had agreed to two weeks liberty for the crew.

Thus Captain Janeway was in benevolent mood, as yet another party from Voyager's crew waited patiently to take their place on the transporter to enjoy their good fortune. It allowed her to hide some of her own concerns.

The visit to see Seven of Nine the previous night had rocked her.

Seven of Nine had accused her of being irrational and demanded an explanation of comments she had made years ago. It had ended in an argument, as she had retorted that the errors were Seven of Nine's, not four years ago, but four days ago. The Captain had even tried pleading with her, not that that had ever worked either. In the end she had walked out. Seven of Nine was simply not the Seven of Nine from a week ago, or even four years ago. The Colonel's task looked unsurmountable. 

A quick check of the time and she left the Transporter Room, heading for Sick Bay. He had a high hurdle, perhaps he would appreciate some moral support.

  


The Colonel found the Captain waiting for him when he arrived outside Sick Bay. He slammed to a halt, his foot rising high and crashing to the deck, right hand streaking to the salute. "Ma'am!"

"Stop doing that. Please!" She pleaded.

"Ma'am?"

"The coming to attention and saluting!"

"Ma'am. Regulations require correct address to a senior officer in uniform, Ma'am."

In a fit of temper, she tore her jacket off and threw it to the floor. "Now I'm not in uniform and you can come off your official high horse!" She snapped.

If he relaxed at all, she could not see it. Perhaps the shoulders dropped a little, but he remained silent.

"I want to help," she said quietly.

"Don't know if there is anything you can do, Ma'am," The Colonel observed. "I've even tried talking to Doctor Hansen, just to see if I'm missing something."

"Hansen! What made you go to her for help?" The Captain exclaimed. "She doesn't like you and I know she hasn't been to see Seven."

"Don't like her particularly either," The Colonel admitted. "But she isn't into awkward silences and sympathy either and she told me what she thought of me. Apart from being told I'm second best as both husband and parent. I don't think anything new turned up. I'm giving it until Voyager leaves Trafoil, Ma'am. If I've not got Mrs Nine to accept the baby exists, then I'm staying there."

The comment took a moment to sink in to the Captains mind, then she exploded. "But you don't want to leave Seven!"

"No, Ma'am. I don't. I promised my life to Mrs Nine and I couldn't think of anything then that would make be break that vow," the Colonel admitted bitterly. "But it is a matter of who needs most. If things go badly today, I will have to look after the baby. I can't do that and stay here, it's too dangerous. If there was trouble, I'd have to refuse. That means I will outstay my welcome aboard Voyager. Mrs Nine has all of you to look after her. Perhaps even her mother will take an interest. If I'm out of the way. But I want my baby to be guaranteed at least one parent."

"So you are going to give in?" The Captain snorted. "The man that doesn't know how to lose?"

"I know all about losing," the Colonel assured her miserably. "It happens when you don't know how to win. I lost this battle three months after joining Voyager! This is my last stand. If I fail, then I'll do what I have to do. I'm going to break my word. Not just to Miss Seven of Nine, but to you and Her Majesty. Please don't make it anymore difficult for me? But can't you see. I've got to look after my child?"

The Captain stared thoughtfully up into the pain filled grey eyes of the soldier. Finally she nodded. "I don't think I could stop you," she admitted. "I won't make it difficult. You will do what you think you have to do. But we will miss you. If you have to go. So will Seven when she realises."

"If it's quick, perhaps you could come back, Ma'am?" The Colonel suggested, the tone belying the fact that he thought it unlikely. 

He stooped to pick up the Captains jacket, brushed it off and held it out for her to put back on. "Captain is improperly addressed, Ma'am. It will never do. Even in the Royal Navy."

The Captain tried to suppress the grin, as she shrugged her way back into her jacket as the door to Sick Bay opened and they entered.

"Any improvement?" The Captain demanded of the Doctor as the Colonel peered into the alcove containing Seven of Nine.

The Doctor shook his head in the negative.

"Well never mind," the Colonel breathed. "Now I believe you wanted to take Miss Twenty-Eight to see the sights. I think I can hold the fort if you wish?"

"I am not due to.." The Doctor started to protest.

"I'm sure the Captain will correct the roster," the Colonel assured him, gently pushing both the Captain and the Doctor towards the door.

Before either realised the Sick Bay door had closed behind them.

Irritated, the Doctor turned to re-enter to be caught by the Captain. "I think he wants some time with Seven," she suggested quietly. "He is going to make some sort of last attempt with Seven. Take Thirteen of Twenty-Eight out for a few hours. Trafoil is a major cultural centre, you may find some trace of her people. If something comes up the Colonel will call for help."

The Colonel heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed. He was the veritable drowning man grasping for straws. His pride meant he didn't want his last desperate stand witnessed by anybody. He grabbed the baby, bottle and nappy from incubator and headed for Seven of Nine's bay.

Seven of Nine was standing at a console reviewing Astrometrics logs. She looked around at his approach. "Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels. The reason for your presence?" She demanded in annoyance.

"Actually I thought I would spring you from your cell, whilst the Doctor looked after my daughter. Perhaps give you the chance of roaming the ship, possibly even your quarters," the Colonel offered. 

"Actually. I still am," he continued. "I've cleared my gear from quarters, so everything is ready for you? Unfortunately the Doctor has been called away. So I hope you won't mind if I bring the babe?"

Seven of Nine considered the statements for a moment. She was finding residence in the Sick Bay restrictive, and the doctor, with his constant measurement of her new Cortical Node, looking for an error that was not present, was becoming irritating. Otherwise the only time the Captain permitted her to leave was for regeneration. "Acknowledged," she accepted almost gratefully.

She pondered some more before observing. "My records show that we have been joined in the act of marriage. There was a reason for this union?"

"You thought you were in love with me," the Colonel answered quietly.

"Love is illogical. Define its purpose?"

"Need," the Colonel suggested. "The need for the comfort and company of somebody that is special to you. The desire for somebody to share what you have with, for good or bad. To make them happy."

"You experienced this need?"

"Give me your left hand," the Colonel ordered softly, by way of answer, placing the baby on the couch beside them.

Silently she proffered the required hand.

He took it gently and slid the wedding ring from her finger, before kissing and releasing it. "I still am," he admitted softly. "I am in love with you, Miss Nine. So much so it hurts. But for the last few days you've made it patently clear that the last thing you want is me, or what we produced. I'm not going to try and hold you in some trap, simply because some computer says we are matched. So I'm releasing you from any promise you've ever made to me."

She watched curiously as from around his neck he withdrew the small leather bag on its string. Carefully he undid the string, threaded the ring on to it, then returned the ensemble back inside his shirt.

"When and if you are ever ready and you want it back. Ask," he said quietly. "You wanted me once. I have never worked out why, but you did. Perhaps one day you'll want us. Until then, you are as free as you were when you left the Collective. Now may I show you to your quarters?"

"Acknowledged."

"Perhaps you could you carry the babe for me?" the Colonel asked, coming to life again. He scooped the baby up and placed it in her arms before she could object. "You carry her. Then I can carry the luggage."

  


---*---*---

  


Twelve of Twenty, still resisting the Doctor's and Captain Janeway's offers of removing his Borg implants on religious and ethical grounds, looked out of place almost anywhere, even on Trafoil, where a whole gambit of races lived. He was standing watching web footed creatures paddle on a lake. He did not know what they were and was not particularly interested in them, or the infants feeding them morsels. He was waiting.

His wait ended with a figure appearing beside him. "Your mission was a failure."

"There was insufficient time for the Phalm to develop. The vessel we visited was a success," Twelve of Twenty observed, not looking around to see his acoster. It would have been of little help if he had, the speaker was not so very different in outward appearance to the Trafoil's.

"It was noted in your report," the figure agreed. "There were external factors involved there also. The vessel you arrived on was one. It is possible they are a threat to Brannen."

"They are not interested in Brannen," Twelve of Twenty assured him. "There are technologies aboard Voyager that may be of interest."

"The breeding Borg and its infant. Yes, they are of interest. We will take measures for its procurement. You will return to Voyager and ensure the measures succeed." With that the Branag disappeared, leaving Twelve of Twenty alone again.

  


Nine of Fourteen darted into an alleyway and examined the contents of his bag with some satisfaction. Despite nearly a year as a Borg and the subsequent conversion back to a Lathran again, he had lost none of the skills bequeathed by a long prehensile tongue and a lizards sharp eye. If anything the eyesight was sharper than before, no doubt because of the artificial eye that had replaced the Borg ocular implant. He doubted if he would have spotted the green Malachite ring in the grass before, which would have been a pity. On some planets the pretty little trinket would fetch an excellent price.

Not that the Trafoil's were a particularly difficult race to steal from. They seemed to delight in leaving valuables around, just waiting to be picked up by the enterprising and observant.

Besides his need was going to be greater than theirs when the 'Family' caught up with him. And they would catch up, Captain Janeway was already negotiating a passage for him with the Lathran Consul and he had seen others of his race on Trafoil. Some were bound to be members, the family all but controlled Lathran from behind their visibly legal trading agreements. Freelancing cost money, or lives, sometimes both.

He was startled from his lugubrious reflections by a shout.

Two humanoids had entered the alley behind him. He knew they were not Trafoils, even in silhouette, with the sun setting behind them, the ears were wrong. It was equally obvious they were not there because they were lost. They were moving purposefully, a few metres apart towards him, effectively blocking the exit. Cautiously he turned and strolled nonchalantly, but quickly, up the alley, hoping to find an opening into which he could dart.

He was out of luck. It was a cul-de-sac and both the doors leading from it were locked. Slowly he turned to face the two trackers. He supposed they could be of the same race as Twelve of Twenty, they bore a similar ridge and boney nose combination. Though why they were following him, he did not know.

The two followers also stopped. "You are Shazzar," one said. "Formerly the Borg drone Nine of Fourteen?"

If Nine of Fourteen had an idea of denying the charge, he was quickly discouraged when both figures brought up small pencil like objects and aimed them at him. Instead he nodded.

"It is wise not to lie as well as steal," the obvious spokesman of the pair continued. "The Lathran Family are not pleased with you. It is said you owe some taxes."

"I'm going to pay!" Nine of Fourteen declared hurriedly.

"It is of no consequence to us. We do not think you can pay the 15,000 Krada's from your small takings today. The contract has been drawn at the usual 10% commission."

"15,000!" Nine of Fourteen swallowed. The amount was more than he could steal in a cycle.

"We can offer you a small contract that will pay your tax and commission?" The spokesman offered conversationally.

"What do I have to do?" Nine asked hurriedly, anxious that a chance to solve his debts in one easy throw should not go astray. Though easy might be too much to hope for from two aliens holding obvious weapons.

"Steal something. It is what you do, so it is a small problem."

"What?" Nine of Fourteen asked in resigned fashion. So far nothing was offering him much future.

"The new child on Voyager and its breeder is of interest. You will obtain it."

"I am not expected to return to Voyager. I have been given quarters in the Consul," Nine of Fourteen quavered. There was also the problem of wresting the child from Colonel Samuels and that would be very dangerous.

"We will arrange for your return. There will be an incident aboard the ship in approximately six clicks. Should you attempt to double cross us," the spokesman slapped a medi-spray against Nine of Fourteen's neck and activated it, then continued mildly, "it will be a painful experience. You will receive the antidote on completion. Leave the alley now and walk towards the carnival."

Not liking anything he had heard so far, Nine of Fourteen complied.

  


The focal point of the Trafoil Carnival was, effectively, a traveling fair that plied its various constituents between planets taking amusements to all and sundry. Once a cycle it assembled its four thousand attractions together for this one huge celebration. To some it was a strange mixture of old and new, mixing amazing laser and holographic effects, old fashioned carousels and side shows during the day and glorious cabarets through the night. It was the natural convergence point for Voyager's holidaying crew and several knots of them were doing the rounds of what was on offer, generally finding the more childish the attraction the better.

"I think you are supposed to knock the brown balls off of their stands, Harry!" Tom Paris, member of one such knot, laughed, as Harry Kim tried his luck and poor throwing on a shy.

Harry Kim threw his last ball at the array of targets, missing by a good 200mm, then turned on Tom. "I don't think you can do better," he smirked. "I saw you trying to throw a ring around the soft toy."

"It was for B'Elanna!" Tom Paris protested.

"Perhaps we should get her to try?" Kim suggested. "She nearly got you the other day with her mug. Where is she?"

"She wanted to try some of the rides. Claimed she needed to test them with Naomi."

"I'd have thought that was the Neelix's job," Harry Kim grinned.

"He went with her. But you know Neelix. He is scared of thrills?" Tom grinned back. "But perhaps it is time to collect her, then we can find something to eat and perhaps a show?"

They collected both B'Elanna and Neelix from a 'Waltzer', then, with Lieutenant Joe Caerey and Ensign Torrick in tow, they formed a laughing gang of six as they wandered towards the edge of the fair and a small cafe that was doing a roaring trade from the Voyager crew.

It was as they passed out of the strongest lights that they came across the body of Nine of Fourteen. In alarm they glanced around for his attacker before stooping to inspect the ex-Borg.

"Paris to Voyager," Tom Paris whispered. "Medical Emergency. One to Sick Bay. Somebody has stabbed Nine of Fourteen."

"You go on," he urged the others as he dematerialised with the victim. "I'll join you later."

  


"Where's the Doc?" Tom demanded on arriving aboard Voyager and finding only the Colonel and Nine of Fourteen in Sick Bay.

"Gone courting," the Colonel responded, grappling with the regenerator. "Do you know who stuck Mr Fourteen?"

"No. We just found him."

"Well whoever it was, he was an amateur of the worst water," the Colonel offered, giving a professional opinion. "See, short blade and they just jammed it in under the shoulder," he pointed out the small entry wound just below Nine of Fourteen's left shoulder blade. "It bleeds, but not 'life threatening' as such. Probably hurt though. We'll find out in a mo'. Can I leave you to wake him up? Mrs Nine has run off with the babe and it is coming upto feeding time again."

"Yeah sure!" Tom agreed good naturedly, picking up a medi-spray. "You getting to her?"

"Probably not," the Colonel admitted. "She protested quite noisily about being left with the baby when I got the call. So I'd better rescue the perisher."

In fact Seven of Nine had been vociferous in her complaints about a number of things in her quarters. Like the combined cot and regenerator that had been set up in one corner. Her opinion of the wallpaper that the Colonel had decorated that corner of the room in, was also harsh. In the end he had removed it.

"Please! No!" Nine of Fourteen screamed as he awoke, then settled again as Tom Paris gripped his arm.

"You're okay. You're aboard the ship. You're safe here."

Nine of Fourteen settled back as his memory returned. They had been correct about returning him to Voyager. Any doubts he may have had, about them not carrying out their threats and tracking him were also dissipated. Now he had to find the baby and quickly, before the other measures hinted at came into action.

Silently he took a medical spray from the trolley beside the bed and slipped quietly behind Tom Paris.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Tom exclaimed turning around.

Too late, Nine of Fourteen had slapped the spray against his neck and activated it.

Tom Paris slumped to the deck.

Quickly Nine of Fourteen pulled the unconscious form into a bay and secured him to a couch before slipping from Sick Bay.

From the weapons locker he selected a phasor and set off for Seven of Nine and the Colonel's quarters.

  


The small warning light went unnoticed by the small maintenance crew in Engineering for several minutes, until the sharp eyes of Vorik noticed a tell tale reading. "Increase cooling to of the Anti-Matter plasma containment coils," he demanded, his mind skimming through frequently read procedures. "Check for system error," he added. The containment field generators should not be causing problems. But a few precautions worked well.

"No effect, Lieutenant. Temperature is rising. No system errors reported."

"Transfer anti-matter to secondary containment," Vorik continued, manual still firmly in mind.

"Transfer system's not responding. Backup is down. Trying to bypass."

Vorik's Vulcan mind raced, this was not in the standard manuals and improvisation was not his strong point. The meter was starting to show an in-execrable climb into the danger zone. If lack of cooling caused the containment to fail, anti-matter would escape. The result would be devastating. Not just to Voyager but the planet as well.

"Engineering to Bridge!"

Tuvok listened to the young Vulcan Engineer in silence and made his own decisions. "Break orbit, ahead one half impulse," he ordered quietly of the Ensign at the helm. "Lieutenant Vorik you will attempt to vent antimatter plasma once Voyager is out of the system. I will also remain. All others abandon ship."

  


The alarm sounding, prompted the Colonel to leap to his feet. "Come on!" he urged, holding out a hand to help Seven of Nine to her feet. "That doesn't sound good. Grab the babe and stay close behind. I'll make sure you get in a pod."

He opened the door and found himself face to face with the waiting Nine of Fourteen, who, before the Colonel could recover from his surprise, shot him with his phasor.

The sight of the Colonel crumpling in the doorway brought Seven of Nine up short, then she backed away slowly as Nine of Fourteen stepped over the heap.

"The ship is about to fail," Seven of Nine observed. "We should make for the escape capsules. Or we will perish."

"I don't think that will happen," Nine of Fourteen stated. "I have friends. You will carry the baby," he added, waving the phasor threateningly. "If you attempt to escape, I will shoot you. Sit down. We will wait until the crew have evacuated."

  


In engineering Twelve of Twenty ensured his deception would not be found, for a while at least. Laying the unconscious engineer carefully behind a console. 

Attaching the system jamming device inside an inspection hatch had proven easier than he had imagined possible. The three man maintenance crew had happily accepted his offer to help in their rounds. He had then simply slipped out of sight, when they noticed that something was going wrong.

He had expected a general evacuation, but not that the ship would be taken out of orbit. Though that was a benefit. The interception would be less risky.

Now content, he slipped from Engineering and headed for the transporter room, calling for the baby to be delivered there by his accomplice.

  


On the Bridge, Tuvok was still unaware of what was occurring on the lower decks. Only that Voyager was now a safe distance from any planets to start releasing anti-matter plasma, if needed. The engineering repeaters on the Bridge suggested that the situation had stabilised. The temperatures were dangerous, but no longer climbing. Lieutenant Vorik had been supplying an almost continuous report of what he was trying, the results and the results of testing Tuvok's own suggestions, but there had been nothing from Engineering for over half an hour. He could only assume that Lieutenant Vorik, had found a means to start to bring things under control and was simply too busy to respond. Tuvok, in the meanwhile, had had his own problems.

Like informing the Captain that her ship was in danger of blowing up.

Captain Janeway had taken the news remarkably well, Tuvok decided. Secretly, he suspected that Chakotay had been holding her down after the third exclamation, or else she would have demanded more forcefully to be beamed back to the ship. She was now racing around Trafoil, collecting her crew and begging a ship so that she could attempt to reclaim Voyager.

The second problem was the ship that was taking station with Voyager. It was not a recognisable vessel and was ignoring his repeated warnings of the danger it was entering. Scans of the vessel showed an inferior weapons and sensor system to Voyager's own, not that it mattered with only two crew aboard. Dark feelings of piracy loomed large on the mind.

Still watching the unidentified vessel, Tuvok tried to obtain a status report.

Receiving no reply was disconcerting. Instead he tried the computer.

"Lieutenant Vorik is in Engineering."

An indicator lit on the console. "Who has transported from the ship?" Tuvok demanded.

"Seven of Nine plus two other life forms."

"Identify crew complement and location?" Tuvok could feel the confusion descending upon him. He and Vorik were supposed to be the only crew aboard.

"Crew compliment five. Lieutenant-Commander Tuvok, Bridge. Lieutenant Vorik, Engineering. Lieutenant Paris, Tom, Sick Bay. Lieutenant-Colonel Samuels, Deck Three. Ex-Borg drone, Nine of Fourteen, Transporter Room 2," the computer helpfully catalogued.

From the fog of confusion a dim light of realisation started to dawn, if not answers. Tuvok headed for the door.

  


"Hold still! I'm not finished with this!" Tom Paris scolded, waving the regenerator in front of the Colonel.

"Hold still be damned!" The Colonel spat, struggling into a sitting position. "Where's that bastard Nine of Fourteen. I'm going to wring his ruddy neck!"

"Tuvok's got him, over there," again Tom waved the regenerator, this time in the direction of the Sick Bay office.

Silently the Colonel stood and staggered in the direction that Tom Paris had indicated, ignoring the Lieutenant's protestations and holding his chest gingerly where the phasor had struck. Entering the office he caught hold of the ex-Borg and slammed him hard against the wall, bringing his forearm up to pin him by the throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip you into pieces?" he hissed, his face less than 300mm from the drones.

"The use of violence will not solve the problem," Tuvok intercepted. "Nine of Fourteen has confessed to his part in the kidnap."

"So I can hang him?" The Colonel snapped, lifting the struggling ex-Borg from the deck.

"There is no statute for that punishment," Tuvok observed. "You will stand down."

"Watch me. I'll hang him."

"You will stand down!" Tuvok repeated, bringing his phasor up. "We will require Nine of Fourteen's assistance. If we are to recover Seven of Nine."

The Colonel dropped Nine of Fourteen and glared at Tuvok, then at the phasor as he calculated the probability of the Vulcan using the weapon. It was high, he decided. As were the signs of the Vulcan increasing the power of the weapon to the maximum permitted aboard ship.

Behind him Nine of Fourteen began to speak. "I was told to steal the baby," he whined. "They injected me with something to force me to do it. They promised to supply an antidote and clear things with the family. I know who they are and where they'll go. I was double crossed! Please! They are going to kill me!"

"Well the good news is they won't kill you," the Colonel assured him turning back and lifting the drone to his feet again by the collar. "I am! I can do it very painfully, or very quick. Now who are they?"

"They must be Branags," Nine of Fourteen gabbled. "They are experts in genetic manipulation. It's why they are all so different, The one that stabbed me looked like a Trafoil! They want a Borg, they genetically build one. They want the baby's nanoprobes! Please! I'll help! Just don't kill me!"

"Then we had better get after them," the Colonel growled, the voice quiet and full of promise. "But cross me. Then the first to get it will be you. Understand?"

Nine of Fourteen nodded vigourously.

"We are unable to pursue them at this time," Tuvok observed calmly. "There is insufficient crew to operate this ship."

"Don't see a problem," the Colonel hissed. "Lieutenant Paris, drives. Lieutenant Vorik, keeps the shovelling coal at the engines. Mr Fourteen here navigates. It leaves you to fire a whizz bang or two and me to do anything that is against your gentle and logical nature. No great problem considering the alternatives."

"There are no alternatives," Tuvok argued. "We have insufficient resources to overwhelm their ship."

"By the time there is enough crew for you to feel safe, Mrs Nine and my daughter could be anywhere in the Sector and dead. The alternative is I break your neck now and go after them. I am looking for the lives of my wife and daughter. What happens to Voyager is irrelevant," the Colonel snapped. "We go after them. Now! Come along Mr Paris. Mr Vorik is vertical and doesn't have to go far." He grabbed the Commander by the arm and propelled him toward the door.

  


Seven of Nine glanced around as she materialised aboard an unknown vessel. It seemed a reasonable assumption that the vessel was not as advanced as Voyager. Twelve of Twenty had made Nine of Fourteen operate Voyager's transporter to bring them here and there appeared to be no similar device present. The large room they had been transported to was also poorly lit, though she could clearly see the weapons that were being touted by the six people that were waiting for them. The poor lighting also failed to disguise that they all appeared to be from different races.

She had contemplated attempting to escape from Nine of Fourteen whilst they had been enroute to the Transporter Room. It would have been easy enough. He had clearly been nervous, frequently looking around for threats. She wondered if he believed some of the outrageous stories aboard Voyager regarding the Colonel's recuperative abilities. Certainly there was little reason to fear what remained of Voyagers crew. They were either busy trying to save the ship, or had already abandoned the ship to its supposed fate. In the end she had rejected the idea. It was unlikely she would have got far with the baby in her arms.

Finally she turned on Twelve of Twenty. "Who are you? Why have we been brought here? Why did you leave Nine of Fourteen?" She demanded. "He is your accomplice."

Twelve of Twenty shrugged but said nothing. Instead a swarthy figure spoke. "He had served his purpose. We needed an agent to assist in the acquisition. Your Borg technology is of interest to us. We will examine you later. Remove her to the holding unit."

"You would be wise not to resist. We can obtain enough probes from your dead body to ensure the survival of the infant for an adequate period," he added as Twelve of Twenty pushed Seven of Nine forward. "Leave the infant. You will not need it."

  


"You were Borg and rescued by Voyager," Seven of Nine argued with Twelve of Twenty as he pushed her into a small cell. "Who are you. Why are you repaying them by stealing the baby?"

"I was never a Borg," Twelve of Twenty admitted from the doorway. "I am Branag. I was modified to appear as one to all but the closest examination to test a genetic weapon. My mission failed. The baby's implants and nanoprobes are unique. They will assist in our own genetic improvements. As will yours."

"Harm to the baby is liable to a violent response from Voyager," Seven of Nine called back in alarm. The door between them rolled shut, closing off her protestations, leaving her to study her small surrounds.

It quickly became evident that escape was not going to be viable from this cell, so she settled in to an easy stance to await the outcome.

In the few hours she had allowed herself to be in close contact with the baby, she had discovered a number of things, both about the baby and herself. It was not a monster, in fact it looked remarkably fragile. It was bewitching her and she was falling into the spell of wishing to care for it. Some annoying part of her mind was allowing her to do so, undoubtedly the biological part. It was also making her concerned for what the Branag's were doing to it.

  


"Fascinating! Most instructional!"

"Hynn Professor?"

"The subject, Kathalaw," Professor Hynn explained to his young female assistant, indicating the display panel of the machinery. For the last five hours he had been examining a sample of the baby's blood. "As you know. We have nine distinct blood cells," Hynn continued, the crest running down the back of his neck glowing white with enthusiasm. "Three more than most organics, because of our improvements to our genetic structure. They make us almost immune to most infections, allow us to breath in both Methane and Oxygen based atmospheres and so on. Borg, normally carry some three million nanoprobes, in a mixture of three basic patterns in their systems, in addition to their native cells. The ratio's depending upon their function. Some repair their implants, others for assimilation, some for monitoring and suppressing natural reactions."

"And the child carries more?" Kathlaw suggested quickly to overcome the threatening lecture on advanced pathology. "Perhaps they will help stabilise our genetic structure?"

"Wrong! It has combined them into six enhanced bio-mechanical cells," Hynn put her down firmly, ignoring the question. "Each of the four natural cells contains a nanoprobe core that enhances its performance. The two other types are mechanical, but with a biologically enhanced power source. Now watch. If I drop an equal volume of its feeding material in to the phial. You will also notice that the parents probes present in the feed are typical Borg pattern?"

"But they are being overwhelmed!" Kathlaw exclaimed, peering at the screen as two miniscule armies went to war for her amusement.

"They are being assimilated to produce more probes," Professor Hynn observed patiently. "However, the infants are modifying the organic matter for use also. It is this facet that is particularly interesting in the new Borg technology. They are capable of building organic tissue. A physical laceration to the baby is healed in a few minutes, far faster than natural means. These tests suggest that the subjects immune system is far more efficient and less susceptible to Borg mechanical assimilation. If we used them as the core of our biological weapons they would be almost impossible to overcome. We need to test them on a larger scale. We will test them on the female drone."

"If we destroy the drone we will no longer have a source of probes for the baby, Hynn Professor," Kathlaw observed. "There would be benefits to the Branag Breeding Centre?"

The professor looked surprised. "Of course," he accepted mildly. "We will find another subject. Perhaps one will appear, or we can use you. In the meantime we will acquire a stock of probes from the drone and carry out some comparative tests. Fetch the drone."

"You are becoming attached to the test subject," He observed as Kathlaw turned to arrange for the transport of Seven of Nine. "It would be an error on your part. It is there for our use. It will die eventually."

"Of course not, Hynn Professor," Kathlaw refuted quickly, glad that she did not posses the Professors Gornadd war crest. "It is my duty to keep specimens alive for as long as possible."

"I have observed you are spending an unusual amount of time caring for the specimen? You do not have sympathies with the Naturelles?"

"No! It benefits from close contact, Hynn Professor."

  


Seven of Nine inspected the apparatus she was expected to lay herself upon with some sceptisim. "I do not require to be reclined to administer nanoprobes for the baby's feed," she opined stoutly.

"It is for safety," Professor Hynn offered. "We wish to conduct some comparative tests."

"I do not wish to be the subject of 'tests'," Seven of Nine stated. "You will release both the child and myself."

"To whom?" Twelve of Twenty mocked quietly in her ear. "By the time your vessel has sufficient crew to get underway we will have disappeared. Your only hope of survival is to cooperate."

He pushed her forward roughly, forcing her to grasp the couch. "Lay on it," he demanded. "Comply."

"I refuse!" Seven of Nine twisted, trying to release her arm from Twelve of Twenty's grip and succeeded in striking him a wild blow to the chest plate. He staggered, but held on. Struggling to force her onto the couch, using his greater weight to push her down.

Even so, it might have gone badly for him. Seven of Nine managing to lever his hands away from her shoulders; Had not the Professor lent a hand, snatching up a hypospray and jammed it into the sinews of her neck. Seven of Nine's muscles went limp as the sedative did its work and Twelve of Twenty finally managed to slide her powerless body onto the slab and snap the restraints down.

"We will have to wait for the sedative to wear off!" Professor Hynn fumed, turning away in disgust. "Kathlaw. You will advise me when it has recovered."

  


It was nearly an hour later that Seven of Nine recovered enough to take some interest in her surrounds again. She found that her assimilation lines had been extended and the female assistant, Kathlaw was gently releasing nanoprobes from them into a phial.

"Desist," Seven of Nine demanded weakly. "Removal of nanoprobes will affect my ability to recover."

"We need them to feed the infant. It must survive," Kathlaw said apologetically. "You would not wish your infant to suffer."

"The fate of the infant is of importance to some," Seven of Nine admitted guardedly.

"But not to you?" Kathlaw challenged in surprise.

Seven of Nine considered the challenge before venturing, "I am uncertain. Its survival appears to have an effect on personal events."

"But you gave birth to it!" Kathlaw protested. "Didn't you want it?"

"I was defective."

"What was it like?" Kathlaw asked hopefully. "Being pregnant?"

"It interfered with efficiency," Seven of Nine reported with certainty. "You will undoubtedly find this, should you also give birth."

Kathlaw shook her head sadly. "We are unable to breed naturally. We have modified our genetic structure so widely that breeding causes unstable mutations. Offspring have to be genetically developed."

"It is efficient," Seven of Nine suggested. "The Borg use a similar means to develop infants when they are assimilated."

"You are as bad as the Hynn Professor!" Kathlaw exploded in frustration. "All he ever thinks of is creating the ultimate weapon to defeat our enemies. But nobody knows who our enemies are anymore!"

Seven of Nine looked confused. "Explain?"

"How many people have you seen aboard this ship?" Kathlaw asked.

"Thirty-four."

"And how many races?"

"Eighteen."

"But they are all the same race. Branag!" Kathlaw hissed desperately. "Yes. They look like Trafoils, Borg, Carracks and any one of 500 other races. But they were bred in vats on Brannen. If our scientists see another race that has a potentially useful genetic faculty, then they genetically recreate them in us. I'm a Branag genetic construction of a Thorran, a race with a high abstract intelligence quotient. Hynn Professor is a Gornnadd mixed with the genes of a Thorran. The ultimate in scientific knowledge blended with a genetic xenopath, created for the express purpose of creating the ultimate in genetic weapons. He is good at it too. We have weapons that can destroy Borg ships. Even your own, despite the fact your weapons look technically more destructive, because they won't realise how they are being attacked until their ship disintegrates."

There was silence as both considered the prospect.

"If you do not agree, why assist?" Seven of Nine demanded eventually.

"Because it is our only chance. Eventually something will be found that will help Branags. Because I was bred to assist Hynn Professor."

"Hynn professor wants to test your baby's nanoprobes on you," Kathlaw said softly after a few minutes reflective silence. "He thinks they will destroy you. He is very rarely wrong. But that would mean the baby will perish as well, because we cannot create nanoprobes."

"Why are you telling me this?" Seven of Nine asked warily.

Kathlaw bent close to Seven of Nine's ear. "I am a member of an organisation that is trying to find a way of letting us live naturally. They call us Naturelles, because we want to breed naturally," she whispered. "Please. I wish you no harm. But your baby might be the key to helping us to find a way to stabilise our genetic structure. I've seen how the baby's nanoprobes can modify and stabilise the natural structure of existing cells in the Hynn Professor's tests. They may do the same for us. But without the baby surviving I cannot get enough of the nanoprobes for my organisation to test. If I help you stay alive, will you help me to get some nanoprobes home?"

"Agreed. You should attempt to contact Voyager," Seven of Nine suggested. "They will be attempting to trace me."

Kathlaw's attitude switched quickly as Professor Hynn rejoined them in high spirits. "As I suspected," he chortled happily. "The addition of nanoprobes to the embrionic enzimes of the Phalm mix has shown a 25% increase in development. You have a new supply of nanoprobes for the baby to adapt, Kathlaw? We need a good supply. The Borg's ship is following us. They are unlikely to attack with only a handful of crew, but they can test the modified weapon for us!"

Kathlaw help up a phial to the light and shook it gently. "About half, say four Keps" she admitted. "But we'll need them for the baby. The drug has slowed the production of nanoprobes, Hynn Professor. The Borg will require more time to recover."

"Quite," the Professor accepted. "I'll keep some to keep the baby happy. Say one Kep. You may decant that much into a syringe?"

"Yes, Hynn Professor," Kathlaw accepted meekly, reaching for a medical syringe.

  


Captain Janeway regarded her Chief of Security frostily.

It had taken her nearly an hour to gather her crew, then another thirty minutes to find a ship. The latter had been aided by Zarathkal offering his own yacht. She had been annoyed then, but had eventually accepted that the Vulcans actions were correct, considering the danger the ship and Trafoil were in.

That was before she knew of Voyager's other troubles. 

Now she was livid. Tuvok could tell, her lips had narrowed to the merest line of pink. "You mean these people simply appeared and stole Seven and the baby and you did nothing?"

"We were not capable of responding, Captain," Tuvok argued calmly.

"And now. Why are you chasing them?"

The conference call had been Tuvok's idea, hoping that the Captain would be able to persuade Colonel Samuels to await the arrival of reinforcements, before attempting to overwhelm the alien vessel. It was a mistake. The Captain's visage now dominating the central screen of the Bridge, was if anything less in control of her emotions than the Colonel. 

"Nine of Fourteen has supplied limited tactical details of the Branag, Ma'am," the Colonel chimed in. "It appears Twelve of Twenty was a spy, engaged in testing a genetic based anti-Borg weapon."

Tuvok glared at him. Until now the Colonel had been quietly sat at the back of the Bridge. The accouterments of primitive warfare laying beside him, taking little interest in the proceedings as he slowly and meticulously slid a stone along the edge of his bayonet, seeking that impossibly fine edge. The sight was unnerving, even to a Vulcan. In Tuvok's experience, humans tended to pace when they were impatient or nervous. The Colonel's actions were ominous. He had decided what was going to be done and nothing would deflect him. His input now would inflame the Captain.

"It is distinctly possible they may try to conduct similar experiments upon Seven of Nine and my daughter, Ma'am."

The Captain shuddered visibly, as the horror in the suggestion struck her.

"There is no reason to suppose a civilised race will conduct such experiments!" Tuvok protested.

"Of course not," the Colonel accepted sarcastically. "The fact that one may look like a Trafoil, another like a Borg, they injected Nine of Fourteen with some sort of virus and have kidnapped my wife and child, has nothing to do with them being insane despots. Wake up and smell the humus, Commander. They haven't take them for an intensive course in flower arranging!" 

"I agree," the Captain accepted quickly. "What are your intentions. Can you get them back safely?"

"Or everybody goes with me, Ma'am," the Colonel promised. 

"We have them on long range sensors," Tuvok attempted to reason. "We do no believe they are aware of our presence. We can maintain contact until suitable reinforcements arrive."

"We are a good five hours behind," the Captain observed impatiently, "and apart from personal weapons the ship is unarmed. The Trafoil Navy is at least another two hours behind us and may not catch us at all."

"Voyager would be capable of disabling the vessel," Tuvok assured her.

"Unless they reach where they are going," Tom Paris interjected quietly.

"Then finding Mrs Nine and baby will be impossible," the Colonel opined. "I will get aboard that ship, whether I'm helped or not. They can surrender, or I'll cut a path through. Don't care which. I'll get Mrs Nine and my daughter out."

"You will not be able to overwhelm their crew," Tuvok repeated stubbornly.

The Colonel glared at him. "Over there, in the corridors, I outnumber them 600 to 1. Everybody I hear and see is a target and I've 600 personal scores to settle. They haven't got that luxury. They've got to check before shooting, or they are doing my job for me. And I'm not squeamish using this on anybody!" The blade so carefully pushed into its holder a few moments before, flashed and reappeared less than an inch in front of the Vulcan's face.

The Captain could read the danger signs, even from the small viewscreen. She shivered again. If she let him loose without some control, there was going to be a massacre. "Okay," she said quickly. "How long do you need?"

It was a stupid question and she kicked herself for asking.

"As long as it takes to find the last one and persuade them not to fight," the Colonel snapped, supplying the dutiful stupid answer.

"I'm not having a massacre, Colonel," the Captain snapped. "You can attempt to rescue them. But no more than minimal force. If you won't accept that, then Tuvok and Tom will detain you. If you try and harm them, then you will not be able to find the other ship, let alone rescue Seven. Do I make myself clear?"

"Combatants and threats only. Rules of Engagement noted, Ma'am," the Colonel muttered. "Just remember they may make the same mistake as the Vulcan. Thinking I'm out numbered."

"This is what you will do," the Captain instructed, not entirely reassured by the Colonel's muttered acceptance. He was likely to be liberal in his interpretation. "Take Voyager in and disable their shields and weapons. If you can identify Seven and the baby, beam them out and disable their ship for the authorities. If not, the Colonel goes in to keep them safe. Tuvok, you had better go with him to try and control him. Tom, once they've beamed across, move Voyager to a safe distance and wait for their call to fetch them. You will have to take the pilots seat from Tom, Colonel, until ready to transfer. Tuvok will need help from Operations for weapons, shields, sensors and transporters. When everything is secure Voyager collects. Take a transporter beacon. Any questions?"

"If the ship is damaged it will not be able to assist further without additional crew to carry out repair," Tuvok observed.

The Captain grinned evilly. "Don't get damaged."

"I'll not need you, Commander," the Colonel whispered as the Captain's face disappeared. "If you get in my way, you will get hurt."

"The Captain's orders were explicit," Tuvok reminded. "I will accompany you. You should take the place of Lieutenant Paris. We will be in a position to engage shortly."

"Aye, Sir!"

"Keep her on this course," Tom Paris recommended, releasing his seat to the Colonel. "Notch the power up a step or two and we'll catch them smoothly."

  


The Captain stared at her blank screen for several moments as she came to terms with what she had ordered and the dangers that faced her ship and crew.

She had ordered her ship into battle, without enough crew to operate between planets, without being there to judge the situation for herself, but on the recommendations of a man with enough personal involvement to be regarded as unstable.

If Voyager was lost, then her crew would be stranded in the Delta Quadrant. Then she realised if she had been there she would have ordered exactly the same thing and would have led the charge, probably with less chance of success. It would also have been for exactly the same reasons as well and nothing to do with Star Fleet philosophies.

She rose slowly and left. Zarrathkal would probably not be entirely happy about taking his ship into a war zone. She might have to break a few more regulations to get it there in time.

She suddenly envied the Colonel. His rules and regulations were stricter, but far less restrictive and just at the moment she doubted whether he cared about them.

  


"I've found Seven," Tom Paris reported thirty minutes later. "Quite a few others. But there is no trace of the baby."

"That is my jump off point," the Colonel called from his seat at the front.

"They have detected us," Tuvok observed. "Their shields and weapons are powering up. Prepare for evasive manoeuvres. Use avoidance pattern Omega Delta."

"Dive, roll right, then turn hard left," Tom clarified, as four red orbs arced from the target. "They are firing. Probably spatial charges." 

The orbs bloomed into dirty grey clouds as they detonated well ahead of the ship.

"If that is the height of their reliability then I'm not worrying," the Colonel muttered as Voyager plunged through the smoke.

Four more orbs launched in their direction and again they exploded well short of Voyager. As did the third salvo.

"If I didn't know better. I'd say somebody has sabotaged their weapons," Tom Paris suggested brightly. "This is going to be easy."

It was then that the Operations Panel went haywire. "We're losing shields!" He yelled in alarm. "Diverting emergency power!"

"Modulate frequencies on a random pattern," Tuvok ordered.

"Trying. Reversed the polarity as well," Tom hissed. "But its no good. We are still losing them!"

"Tuvok to Engineering. Reasoning for loss of power to shields?" Tuvok demanded.

"Unknown, Commander," Vorik reported. "Power is being passed to the Shield Generators."

"Would it have something to do with that?" The Colonel asked, pointing at the screen.

A blue bloom had formed on the screen and was appreciably increasing in size as they watched. With rapid fingers, Tuvok bent the sensor suite upon the phenomenum. "It is a primitive life form," he declared at last. "It appears to be feeding off the power supplied to the shields."

"Great. What are you going to do about it?" The Colonel demanded.

"Uncertain," Tuvok confessed. "The creature will need to be studied. We will break off pursuit until a solution can be found. The shields may fail before we are able to attack the Branag vessel."

"We aren't breaking off," the Colonel snapped.

"The Captains instructions were."

"To get us aboard that ship," the Colonel turned in his seat in a flash of fury. "Remember I can see the buggers now. I don't need whining Vulcans to tell me which way to go, just to get me aboard."

"Your attitude will not save Seven of Nine!" Tuvok protested.

"I am in the drivers seat," the Colonel observed hotly. "I'll resist any attempt to get me out of it. But I'll try to miss their whizzbangs. Will that do you?"

"Very well," Tuvok agreed slowly. "Your insubordination will be recorded."

"If it will make you happy," the Colonel agreed. "I'll put myself in your custody. But afterwards. Now do your job, Commander. Take your potshot and get their shields off-line. Then I can do mine."

"We've lost all shields," Tom Paris ventured. He had spent the moments of the confrontation attempting to become invisible as the Colonel's anger crackled around the Bridge. He had no doubts about the outcome of any confrontation if it boiled over and was afraid to be in range of the explosion. "The 'life form' is starting to attack the structural shields."

Tuvok dragged himself back to his displays. "It may be too late to nullify the effects of the life form with our limited resources," he admitted. "We will have to find a remedy aboard the Branag ship. I will target their shield emitters."

  


Professor Hynn was less than happy.

The old Phalm missiles had worked. Voyager had sailed unknowingly through the debris as they were intended to and the Phalm was feeding off her shields as intended, growing exponentially as power to the shields was increased. In a matter of hours it would be of a size to crush both the shields and hull. But from there is was going wrong.

To start, Voyager was not behaving as normally expected of an enemy ship.

Normally, ships that found their shields going down for unknown reasons withdrew. Voyager had not and was still approaching. She would be in range of Hynn's own ship in a few seconds.

The next problem were the nanoprobes. The three Keps of nanoprobe solution Kathlaw had decanted from Seven of Nine, had allowed him to breed more of the ultra fine nanoprobes. But they had not developed as quickly as he had expected. Quite simply the stock that had been developed in phials did not show the same level of industry as nanoprobes fresh from the baby.

In desperation he had drawn new supplies and the child screamed its disapproval. The quantities were not enough to prime a missile and he was frantically mixing the fresh supplies with bred stock in a desperate attempt to perk the mixture up. The nanoprobe enriched Phalm's, he confidently predicted, would achieve the same effects of the older weapons in minutes.

The lights flickered, a sure sign that the ships power systems were being interrupted by power being drawn for weapons and shields. Obviously Voyager had commenced its attack. It was too late for creating new long range tactical weapons. Professor Hynn sighed and began downloading data to pods ready for ejection.

  


"Breach Deck 8!" Tom screamed. The Bragan vessel was not being as defenceless as he had so confidently predicted and whilst Colonel Samuels had not left Voyagers vulnerable areas open to serious damage, without the main defence shields every strike was scoring damage.

"Sorry about that," the Colonel apologised, too cheerfully for Tom Paris. "But somethings bent here. The ship keeps wanting to roll left."

"Lateral stabilisers are off-line," Tuvok corrected, launching a third phasor salvo. "Seal Deck 8. Their shields are down. You may commence transport."

"Don't forget the rest of my kit!" The Colonel demanded as the transport caught hold.

  


Being beamed from a chair was a mistake. As he materialised the Colonel was struggling to maintain his balance. He failed and fell backwards, losing his phasor in the process.

It did mean that when the security guard fired his weapon, the beam whisked harmlessly over his head.

The Colonel rolled desperately to his feet and lunged at the guard, taking him in a rugby tackle, arms around his waist, ramming them both firmly against the wall.

The guard struck back with a blow that struck hard between the shoulders, winding him and forcing him to the deck. The Colonel rolled quickly, only then did he realise what he was facing. The guard was a Hinari of similar size to Thirteen of Twenty-Eight. He had heard of the Hinari from Seven of Nine, apparently tough and competent in hand to hand fights. 

He rolled hard again as a foot came crashing down, finally making enough ground to regain his feet and check for other dangers.

There was a figure cowering at the back of the room, clutching his baby to her, Seven of Nine was on a table and the Hinari look alike was coming for him, but otherwise they were alone.

The Colonel ducked as the guard took a swing, then launched himself upwards, bringing both hands together in a crashing blow that located under the guards chin, sending him stumbling back. He followed on immediately, the sole of his boot taking the guards knee, forcing him to topple.

Blowing hard the Colonel stepped back and watched in surprise as his foe started to rise, almost anything else would have been out for the count. He went in again with a kick to the face and found his foot caught and pulled from under him. He lashed out with the free boot as he fell, catching his victims face.

Free again he paddled backwards, but not quick enough to avoid the guard lunging on top of him to grasp him in a bear hug and stagger to his feet, lifting the soldier off the ground like a rag doll, crushing him. The Colonel responded by jamming his thumbs into his opponents eyes. With a scream of agony the guard dropped him again. He did not see his aggressor coming for him, until the foot caught his knee and he crashed to the deck. Before he could move the Colonel had stamped on the small of his back and was dragging his head back, the blade of a knife pressing against his throat.

"I've been told I have to give you a chance to surrender. Would you like to surrender?" He gasped. "I assure you I know a lot of very dirty moves. Or perhaps I can slit your throat?"

"Nngh!"

"I'll take that as a yes," the Colonel suggested, smashing the head down on the deck until it stopped struggling.

Unsteadily he rose to his feet and kicked the unconscious form to make sure. "Who's next?"

He spotted Kathlaw, baby still in her arms and cowering beside the door.

"Put the baby down. Now!" He yelled, rising to his feet, ready to spring.

"Do not harm her!" Seven of Nine called urgently. "She will not harm the infant!"

"Please! I was feeding it!" Kathlaw begged. "See?" She held up a feeding bottle. "I wouldn't harm her. Please! Ask Seven of Nine?"

"I suggest you put the baby down very carefully love?" The Colonel recommended again, "and come away from the door!" He stooped and recovered the hand phasor he had dropped when he fell and coughed violently, spitting a little blood on the deck. The Hinari had done some damage.

Behind him Tuvok appeared alongside the Colonel's equipment.

"Panic over, Commander. The nasty has had his go and I haven't killed him," the Colonel commented easily waving in the direction of the fallen Brannen. "Doubt he'll wake for a while, or he'll see too good when he does. Can we go while we're ahead?"

"The ships transporters are operating on limited power due to the effects of the organism," Tuvok observed. "It was the reason for my delay. We require a solution to the problem before we return."

"You have been damaged?" He continued as the Colonel coughed again, with another dollop of bloody phlegm.

"Not badly," the Colonel assured him. "It doesn't hurt. Henry there shook us about too much, that's all." He turned to face Kathlaw. "Who do we see to get the medicine?"

"There is no antidote to a Phalm," Kathlaw explained warily. "Your ship will be destroyed within a few hours."

The Colonel picked up his equipment. "Time to create one then. Who do we see?" He asked casually.

"Only Hynn Professor could create one in the time. But he won't!"

"Oh? Won't he? We'll have to convince him then. Won't we?" The Colonel snapped back. "Lead us to your professor. Come along ladies and gentleman. Miss Nine if you could bring the baby." He caught Kathlaw by the arm and pushed her towards the door. "And don't think you're safe yet," he whispered.

"But there will be guards and crew!" Kathlaw protested.

"If we meet any. I suggest you duck. Quickly."

In the event the short journey up the corridor to Professor Hynn's laboratory was uneventful. Tuvok, at least was grateful. Whilst his phasor was set for heavy stun, as per Star Fleet Regulation, he was certain that the Colonel's was not, and the projectile weapon he still preferred to the phasor did not have that option. The Colonel's bland assurance that less than one quarter of those shot actually died was of limited comfort. It was a primitive and uncontrolled form of warfare that rankled with his logical and generally peaceful Vulcan philosophy. Nor was he convinced that the Colonel was entirely in control of himself, or, if he, Tuvok, could, or should, attempt to stop him if he ran amok.

The laboratory was devoid of recognisable life forms. One wall was racked with a score of large tanks all filled with bubbling fluids in various shades of red, blue and green. The other walls being littered with all the laboratory equipment necessary for mixing and testing chemicals. 

"Well where is he?" The Colonel demanded impatiently.

Kathlaw pointed silently towards another door above which a red light glowed, then grabbed the Colonel as he purposefully strode for the door. "It is the Cell Manipulation Room. We can modify the genetic structure of almost anything in there," she explained in a whisper. "While the warning light is on, the room is flooded with radiation. It is impossible to enter."

Tuvok made his own examination using a tricorder. "There is a surfeit of Theta and Gamma radiation," he agreed. "The levels are reducing. This is a shielded room we will not be able to beam from this site. What is the function of the tanks?"

"Embrionic enzymes. They allow our genetic adaptations to develop," Kathlaw said trying to be helpful under the impatient gaze of the Colonel. "The Phalm that is assaulting your ship would have been developed in that tank." She pointed at the third tank of thick blue solution.

"The function of the others?" Seven of Nine demanded, examining each tank in turn.

"They differ. But broadly, red solutions will produce Phalms designed to destroy organisms, but they need to be controlled and nurtured before they take a hold. We don't use them much, because the Blues can survive in almost any conditions, including space. The greens are used for our own genetic developments. But when we are creating a new organism they are all used in various combinations."

"The tank containing the child's nanoprobes?"

"They aren't stored in here yet. We have to formulate a new enzyme to encourage them to develop properly. At present we are using aqueous solution, milk compound and your nanoprobes," Kathlaw explained. 

  


In the Manipulation Room Professor Hynn was busy. The alarm had interrupted his preparation of data pods and he observed the invaders carefully on a monitor before he made his own preparations. 

The laboratory was a centre for creating advanced weapons of stealth. In a few hours, it could create viruses that could destroy cities in a few hours, lifeforms that could destroy planets in days, yet it was not well equipped to take on immediate threats. The thirty minutes awarded him by activating the radiation flood was nothing like enough to create anything suitable and he possessed nothing more conventional. Even if he had he suspected he would not have the skills to use them, certainly against the obvious warrior of the party. The latter, he noted sourly, had managed to disappear from the camera's view.

Instead he carefully loaded two small dart guns, then injected himself with a compound using a hypospray. The contents of the former would not kill his foe, but would incapacitate them. The latter would temporarily improve his own speed and strength.

His suspicions regarding skills were proved correct as the main door to the outer laboratory slid open and a security guard appeared cautiously. A Hirogen derivative, designed for close combat, he was instinctively looking for concealed combatants. There was a single report, clearly audible even through the closed Manipulation Room door and the guard toppled, jamming the door open.

The green human appeared threw something around the doorway and stepped back quickly. There was a flash that threw shadows even in the brightly lit laboratory and a deafening explosion, then he was through the door.

Professor Hynn did not wait to see how long it took. Instead he grabbed a bag and raced for the door. The others had made a mistake turning to watch.

From the door he shot at and struck Tuvok with a dart. The Vulcan slumped without a sound. Kathlaw opened her mouth to scream a warning, but she fell to the second dart. Seven of Nine started to turn and he caught her with a backhand blow that sent her reeling.

He was running out of time, the shouts from the corridor had stopped. In desperation he grabbed Seven of Nine by the hair and hauled her to her feet. Before the dazed woman could react he had locked both her arms firmly behind her using one arm.

She started to struggle. Even with his chemically enhanced strength, the Professor Hynn was not going to hold on for ever.

From his bag Hynn pulled a hypospray and held it against Seven of Nine's neck. "The syringe contains modified nanoprobes from your child," he whispered in her ear. "I was intending to test them on you. I believe they will prove painfully fatal. All I have to do is release the trigger."

Seven of Nine stiffened in alarm.

"Think they ought to do some sort of basic training before they paint a target on them," the Colonel declared re-entering. "You'll be glad to know Commander, I only killed eight. The others," he stopped short and dropped to one knee, rifle levelled, as he took in the professor. "Let her go!" He barked.

"Stand aside. Try to stop me and I will inject her. She will die painfully," the Professor promised edging forward.

"Not half as painfully as you will, Chum!" The Colonel did not move.

"There are many crew aboard this ship. You cannot prevent me and protect yourself from them," the Professor pointed out.

"I have plenty of time to deal with you first. Let her go and I might be encouraged to let you live?"

With a mighty shove, Professor Hynn pushed Seven of Nine forward, sending her reeling towards the Colonel, sending them both sprawling. He grabbed the baby's cot and sprang through the door before running down the corridor.

"He has released the spray!" Seven of Nine reported quietly as the Colonel rolled her off of him and checked her over. "The results are." She choked in sudden pain.

"You aren't dying on me!" The Colonel hissed, gripping her hand in his. "You can't!"

"I do not," again Seven of Nine grimaced in her pain, "know. Should go after the baby!"

"Can you manage this?" The Colonel asked, pulling a hypospray from his own pocket. "They are some of my probes. They may help?" 

He slapped it into her hand as she nodded.

"Go!" Seven of Nine insisted.

He sprang away.

Through tears of pain, Seven of Nine attempted to press the spray to her arm. She dropped it as another surge of pain caught her, forcing her to arch and writhe in her agony. She grabbed for it again as the spasm faded, pressed it to her arm and dropped it again. The pain was too much to concentrate any further and she screamed.

  


The Colonel heard the scream, it whipped him up into greater rage, just as another posse of guards appeared in his way. He did not slow, simply hit them at the full charge, swinging his rifle like a club, smashing a path through.

The professor was in sight now, the cot was slowing him down. He glanced over his shoulder and saw death charging down upon him. His only chance lay in escape. The knowledge spurred him into a greater effort. If he could reach the escape pod he might have a chance.

He did not receive the chance. The Colonel crashed into him with the force of a charging bull, bringing them both down and the cot skidding away.

The professor was not beaten yet, the drug gave him the strength to throw the soldier off, regain his feet and administer a kick to his opponents face before making another desperate attempt at escape again.

What the drug did not offer was the fighting skills to make the last come true. He had made less than half dozen steps before he was caught by the arm and swung violently, face first, into the wall. Before he could recover from the impact he was spun heavily into the wall on the opposite side of the corridor, then back again. It required far more than enhanced strength to counter an attack of such violence and on the sixth impact he blacked out.

Satisfied that his opponent was not going to be a source of irritation for a few minutes at least, the Colonel stepped lightly over the prostrate figure, spitting a mouthful of blood on him and picked up his baby to pacify the squalling infant. "Hush!" He whispered soothingly, tucking it into one arm. "Daddy won't let people do things to you."

With his spare hand he slung his rifle, grabbed the professors foot then headed back the way he had come, dragging his victim after him.

  


Aboard Voyager, Lieutenant's Paris and Vorik were having severe problems. It had taken three attempts to scavenge the power needed to beam Tuvok and the Colonel's equipment across to the Branag ship. Then they had had to suffer the knocks from the Branag's weapons as they limped away.

Now it was a race with time to complete enough repairs to allow Voyager to pick up the away team, before the away team succumbed to overwhelming odds, or Tuvok tried to restrain the Colonel. The problem was neither of them had a solid idea of how they were going to achieve it. 

Normally force fields were placed over breaches until permanent mechanical repairs were made. But the organism, now resting upon the hull, quickly found them and from there the amount of power required to maintain the seal increased exponentially. Thus they were forced to complete physical repairs immediately. Setting up temporary fields to allowed them to apply temporary mechanical repairs. Removing the temporary fields before they were overwhelmed. It worked, but was taking too long and the phalm was developing too well from it. Nor did the temporary repairs improve the ships ability to take damage. They simply prevented the inside of the ship being sucked out.

In desperation, Tom Paris had recovered some of the special weed killer developed for dealing with the seaweed infestation. Having to use environmental suits in its presence slowed them down even further, but the organism appeared not to like it either, giving them considerably more time to complete repairs.

The last jury repair made both of them adjourned to the Bridge to discuss possible solutions to the external problem.

Tom Paris was all in favour of replicating more weed killer, until the pragmatic Vorik had observed that there was insufficient spare power for the replication and that the organism had not been damaged. If anything it had been becoming more accustomed to the chemical. It had allowed them to work unmolested for much less time on the last repair.

"How about polarising the hull plating?" Tom Paris suggested.

Vorik gave the idea some thought. "It would require testing. It is possible to localise the effect to a small area for a test?" he offered.

"I don't think we've the time for that," Tom Paris commented. "Besides the chemicals worked best when it was a shock to the system."

Again Vorik considered the the suggestion. It was veering dangerously upon irrational behaviour, sacrificing the last of their power reserves on a gamble. A trait he did not own, but had observed the Captain and his Commander often relied upon with illogical amounts of success. "Very well," he agreed, rising to his feet. "I will require some minutes to complete the modifications."

"Janeway to Voyager. State your condition." The Captain's gravel voice had never been so welcome to Tom Paris. 

"Captain!" He responded in relief. "I wasn't expecting you for a few hours yet!"

"Just say I've taken lessons. What state is my ship in?"

Briefly Tom Paris went over Voyagers plight.

"How long before you are ready?"

"Vorik should be about ready," Tom admitted. "If it works, I'll move Voyager away on thrusters. But we won't have warp until the repairs are completed properly."

Quickly he switched channels. "Are you ready, Vorik?" He called hopefully.

"I am ready, Lieutenant," Vorik assured him.

"Do it!"

The lights dipped as power leaked into Voyagers shell.

"It's working!" Tom shouted in glee as the blue mass started to peel away. "If there's anything left put it into the hull. It doesn't like getting its feet burnt!"

"The organism does not possess feet, Lieutenant," Vorik observed patiently from the other end of the communicator. Never the less, he complied with Tom Paris's command.

Slowly Voyager gathered way as Tom Paris attempted to edge her away from the danger, then groaned as the danger re-established itself on Voyager's hull.

"It didn't work, Tom," The Captain observed gently. "How long before emergency power is exhausted?"

Tom shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Perhaps a couple of hours. We blew pretty well everything on that stunt."

The Captain nodded her understanding. "There are no transporters here to beam you over, Tom," she said. "I don't think we'll be able to risk docking either. Do what you can. I'm going after the away team. Perhaps Tuvok has found a remedy."

Unhappily Tom watched the ship slide from sight, then turned back to the problem in hand.

  


Being all too aware of the problems facing Voyager and the limited time scales available to find the solution had left Tuvok a Vulcan in a hurry. "We wish a remedy to the Phalm that is infesting Voyager."

Professor Hynn for his part was proving uncooperatively silent.

"Your assistance in this matter will undoubtedly be of benefit in your subsequent trial," Tuvok offered.

"Trafoil justice holds no fears," Hynn finally broke his silence. "There is no terror in their punishments. They have not even used correctional methods for 60 generations."

"There are other methods," Tuvok observed calmly.

Aboard Voyager Tuvok would have had days and weeks in which to wear the prisoner down. He did not have the luxury here.

"Have the barbarian torture me," Hynn jeered. "Your race is as pathetic as the Trafoils. With your pathetic threats. You need a barbarian to do things for you If I'm damaged who would create the antidote. Perhaps my treacherous lab assistant? All she does is take care of the specimens."

From the other side of the room, where she was sat nursing the baby, Kathlaw looked up nervously at the mention of her name. But said nothing. The Professor was right, only he had the skills required to do what the strangers wanted.

"Your solution would be inefficient," Tuvok observed calmly, though the jibe had stung. 

Also, having seen the Colonel's expression when he had cuddled the contorted and unconscious Seven of Nine on his return, he suspected that the Colonel would enjoy the task to the point of not stopping at the end. It was also a concern that the soldier had silently disappeared. The occasional explosion and animalistic scream that echoed through the corridors, showed that he was hunting down resistance.

Instead Tuvok kneeled beside Hynn's head and gripped it in classic fashion. "Your mind to my mind.."

For a moment Hynn's eyes opened wide at the intrusive meld. Then fought back, pushing the surprised Vulcan away.

Tuvok blinked in surprise, Professor Hynn's resistance was stronger than he had anticipated.

"We include the genetic details of several telepathic races," Hynn observed.

Tuvok gripped the head again using both hands. This time there was no subtlety in the meld. It was a genuine fight for supremacy, neither side giving ground and both giving vent to animal howls of pain. 

Slowly Tuvok started to force his way deeper, smashing through the walls of defence his opponents mind sought to build. But he was also suffering from a similar attack from his opponent. With some relief he found the locked box containing the information, grabbed it and tried to withdraw. To be taken by the last of the Professors defences.

It started with a soft 'shhing' noise and what would have felt like a gentle breeze, that grew rapidly into a gale, finally to hurricane force dragging the air back with it. Only then did Tuvok realise what it implied. He clawed his way forward with greater desperation to make his own defences viable.

Mindstorm, was the term given to it. He had barely returned to the protection of his own mind before it struck. Deep in the Vulcan's mind something broke and he lashed out in an uncontrolled scream and response of his own.

Tuvok remembered nothing more until his eye's opened and he found the Colonel kneeling over him.

"You okay, old chap?" The Colonel asked quietly. "Here take a sip of this." He helped the Vulcan to sit, propping him against his knee and offered a small flask to his lips. 

Tuvok choked on the fiery fluid the flask contained. "I do not drink alcohol!" He protested.

"This isn't drinking," the Colonel opined. "This is medicine. You need the colour. You've gone as white as a sheet. What happened? I saw you being thrown away from Professor wotsit there."

"I used a mind meld to obtain the information required," Tuvok admitted weakly, still dazed. "He was a difficult subject."

"Obviously," the Colonel grunted, gesturing at the glazed eyed figure of Professor Hynn, propped against the wall and humming to himself. "But I don't think you will ever look me in the eye again, when you complain about my rash, impulsive and uncontrolled nature. At least my victims die, or recover. I don't think he will do either. You didn't just do that mind stuff on him, did you?"

Tuvok shook his head numbly. "He attempted to resist with a technique known as 'Mindstorm'."

"Should I ask what that is in English?"

Tuvok considered the question. It was a difficult concept to explain, but he had a desperate need for understanding. "You are aware of tsunami? Destructive tidal waves, capable of destroying cities?"

The Colonel nodded.

"Mindstorm could be compared with such an event. It combines all the power of the mind in a single massive destructive force. The chances of survival of such an attack are remote. My response was.." He trailed off as he sought words to explain.

"Less planned than you would have liked," the Colonel suggested for him, guessing at the unusually tongue tied, but verbose Tuvok's hesitation. He was ashamed!

"I think we might be better off chatting about it later. Did you get what you needed. Perhaps more importantly can we put it into operation?"

"It will require the assistance of the assistant, Kathlaw."

"You don't want to do another meld, do you?" The Colonel asked hopefully. "After what I've seen, I wouldn't let your hands within three feet of me. I'm damned sure Kathlaw won't let you that close."

"I will instruct," Tuvok suggested.

"Okay. I'll chat with Kathlaw. Just take it easy. Until I can convince her you aren't going to fry her mind as well!"

  


An airlock door opened and two faces peered carefully around the jam. Why they had not been fired upon as they approached the Branag ship was less than clear. The yacht did not possess the same sophisticated sensors, so they were working blind, without even a tri-corder amongst them.

Satisfied they were not to be set upon immediately, the faces slipped back and let the small security detail ensure the corridor was secure, before addressing each other.

"I think the Colonel's been here before us, Kathryn," Chakotay commented, waving in the direction of the corridors only and deceased occupant.

The Captain gave a haunted smile. "I hope he didn't get too carried away. Take a team to the Bridge and put us on course for Voyager. B'Elanna, take your engineering team and find the engine room. Harry, sweep the ship for survivors. Carver, keep this corridor secure. We don't want surprises, or lose our way out. Doctor, you're with me. We're going to find Seven and Tuvok."

Thus it was that when Captain Janeway, the Doctor and two security guards entered the laboratory, they found the Colonel sat on the floor, his daughter in one arm, Seven of Nine's head on his thigh stroking her hair gently. He gave them a cheery wave, then signalled them to be quiet.

"Better late than never, Ma'am," he whispered. "Now if I could put upon you to keep reasonably quiet. They've only just dropped off. Doctor, could you check over Miss Nine, please? She got a neck full of 'probes earlier and I don't think she is right yet."

"Where's Tuvok?" The Captain demanded, ignoring his request for silence.

The Colonel looked pained and waved at the inner door. "Commander Tuvok is with Miss Kathlaw in there, Ma'am. I'm afraid you can't go in while the lights on. At least, not if you want to come out the same shape as you went in. Should be finished soon though. How is she, Doctor?"

"Physically, she looks fine," the Doctor admitted, completing a cursory examination. "But I will not know fully until we are aboard Voyager."

"Where is Twelve of Twenty?" The Captain persisted with her questioning, though more quietly.

"He won't get into anymore mischief," the Colonel assured her. "Nor will the ex head chap here."

"You killed them?"

The Colonel nodded. "They were experimenting with Miss Nine and my daughter, Ma'am. I'll provide my full report when we are home. As usual."

Behind them the door opened to reveal Kathlaw and a subdued Tuvok, bearing a glass container between them.

"We must prime a missile with this mixture," Kathlaw announced. "It must be detonated within 50 Kilometres of your vessel to be effective."

  


Tuvok scanned the Mess carefully. It was 07:15 two days later and he fully expected to find one particular crewman having breakfast. He was correct, the Colonel was alone, eating his habitual bowl of porridge and sipping at a large mug in the corner. It was one of those strange traits, Tuvok decided. Probably the most erratic and dangerously unpredictable human he had ever met, could also be one of the most reliable and consistent.

"I wish to offer an apology and appreciation," Tuvok said quietly, arriving at the table. "I believe you admitted to the deaths of Professor Hynn and Twelve of Twenty?"

"Mister Twenty fell from a balcony in their Engineering," the Colonel corrected. "That is what went in my report. That I dropped him, I will have to live with. Personally, I had much better plans. As for Hynn. It was a mercy thing. He wasn't going to recover, was he?"

Tuvok shook his head. "He would not recover. But you did not state why you killed him."

"Was it necessary? He was a danger to the Away Team," the Colonel observed. "It didn't save you from all of the Captain's wrath though, did it? Twenty-eight days restricted to quarters and six month seniority, for losing the ship?"

"The punishment will pass." Tuvok hesitated before continuing. "My reactions aboard the Branag vessel were unsettling," he said at last. "Vulcans are not given to wild and irrational behaviour."

"You did what needed to be done, Commander."

"It was excessive."

The Colonel stared thoughtfully into his mug. Commander Tuvok had obviously been rattled badly by the experience. He wondered how badly it was going to effect him in the future. 

Finally he looked up. "Do you know what the real difference is between the training we had. You, in that Vulcan Monastery. Me, on my parade ground?" He asked quietly. "I was trained to use my wild, irrational impulses to give me the edge. You- to deny they exist. It means I just do what I can. I don't consciously think about the outcome until afterwards. Which can be good or bad. You on the otherhand think your way out of problems. There are fewer repercussions that way. But when you hit the limit, and there is always a limit, you can't control it, because it does not exist. It makes you far more dangerous than me."

"I think there is a place for us both, Commander," he continued. "Think of me as your safety valve. You may not like the way I behave at times, but it stops you having to find that Vulcan breaking point too often?"

"Agreed."

"Doesn't mean I couldn't do better though?" The Colonel mused stroking his chin.

"Perhaps you should attempt Vulcan meditation techniques. I have sufficient time to instruct you in the rudiments during my confinement?" Tuvok offered, accepting the hint.

"17:00," the Colonel agreed quickly. "Now if you'll excuse me. I am due with the repair crew in Deck 8. There's some heavy stuff to shift and they find an ignorant unthinking ape useful for that."

  


"And what can I do for you young lady?" The Doctor enquired of Naomi Wildman, as she sauntered into Sick Bay, settling for a tone between cheerful and condescending. "You do not look ill and we have not got a lesson."

Naomi grinned. "The Colonel asked me to check on the baby, because he is going to be a little late. He doing something with Tuvok."

The Doctor smiled. Naomi had been his first cheerful visitor all day and her sunny disposition lightened the mood in Sick Bay.

"Well it will be time for her feed soon," the Doctor clucked. "So you can help me test for the required additional nanoprobes?"

Gently he lifted the small life from her resting place and knelt to permit Naomi to view it. The baby regarded them with passive blue eyes, content and comfortable. For the time being.

"Can I hold her?" Naomi begged. 

"The Colonel lets me?" She suggested as if this was all the permission she needed and holding out her arms. "The Colonel said you might even let me feed her? I know how to do it. He let me feed her the other day!" She added proudly.

The Doctor was less certain about this, but handed the bundle over carefully and watched the result like a hawk.

"I love her little implant," Naomi giggled as the Doctor reached for his tri-corder. 

"Now if you can avoid dropping her I will go and make up her bottle?" the Doctor answered, content that there was to be no spillage's. 

Released from close scrutiny Naomi moved carefully towards Seven of Nine's medical bay.

Seven was sitting on the couch reviewing a pile of PADD's. The PADD's themselves were the same recordings of her logs that had confused her some days ago. At present her annotations from then made even less sense. 

The problem was she had no clear recollection of either and that was annoying her.

She looked up as Naomi approached. "Crewman Naomi Wildman. State the purpose of your visit?"

"I thought you might like to hold the baby and talk?" Naomi offered, holding up the small form. "I think she's cute and looks ever so like you?"

The baby wriggled violently. 

Naomi unprepared for the sudden movement fumbled in a desperate attempt to hold on, before two slender blue clad arms grasped it firmly and lifted it away.

For ten seconds two sets of blue eyes regarded each other solemnly.

Then the baby cried.

"You should be more prepared for the infants sudden movements," Seven of Nine recommended, offering the baby back to Naomi.

Naomi, terrified of what she had so nearly done, shook her head and backed away. "I'm sorry, Seven. I didn't mean to drop her!"

Naomi refusing to accept the baby back and with nobody else to hand the infant on to, left Seven of Nine with only one course of action. She cuddled it to her, trying to soothe the child's wails. As she held it to her bosom, the baby subsided, and as if by magic, the fog of memory started to lift.

Confused Seven of Nine held it away from her and looked upon it as if for the first time. The young life she held in her arms suddenly felt very important.

The Doctor, alarmed by the sudden noise, barrelled into the bay clutching a feeding bottle.

In an instant he took in the scene, slapped the bottle onto the bed beside Seven of Nine and ushered the still trembling Naomi out of the bay.

"I didn't mean it!" Naomi twittered.

"Didn't mean what?" The Colonel asked entering the room in high spirits. "Sorry I'm late. Commander Tuvok was more difficult than I anticipated. He'll probably need an aspirin in the morning, Doctor. That Vulcan Meld stuff gets heavy. Especially on a glass of Navy Rum."

"You attempted a Vulcan mind meld with alcohol?" The Doctor demanded incredulously. "Why not just step into an airlock without a suit?"

"Didn't touch a drop," the Colonel promised. "But it was the only way to get him to relax enough to test himself. I think I bored him to sleep. Now Miss Wildman?"

"I nearly dropped the baby!" Naomi wailed.

The Colonel glanced in the bay to see Seven of Nine concentrating very firmly upon the baby in her arms. "I think you have probably done me the greatest favour in the Galaxy," he whispered. "Now I have the dangerous part. Wish me luck."

Nervously he straightened his jacket and strode into the bay.

"Shall I feed her?" he asked.

"It is not necessary," Seven of Nine informed him. "I am capable of feeding my daughter."

For a moment he looked nonplussed, but gathered himself quickly to offer a grin. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that!" he sighed, settling himself on the couch beside her. His right arm unconsciously encircling her waist and pulling her closer. "I think I may have been a little harsh on that Hynn chap."

His touch also fired small switches in her mind, making her want to snuggle closer, even respond in kind. He had been missing when she had awoken earlier that day. Now she realised that she had missed that small sign of companionship. Still confused, she tried to disguise it with a terse. "Explain?"

"Sorry, Ma'am!" the Colonel flushed and released her and slid away, mistaking her squirming for resistance. He had drawn a line and his unwitting action had crossed it.

The action and his embarrassment left her confused.

"I'm guessing, assimilation by those 'probes he stuck you with, have something to do with your sudden enthusiasm for your daughter," he explained. "As well as Naomi's little accident. Well. It is too late to say sorry and things did not go the way he intended."

He groped in the top pocket of his jacket, pulled out his notebook and offered it to her. "Perhaps you would like to choose some names for her. Now she exists?"

"The source of the names in your notebook?" Seven of Nine queried, deliberately sliding closer again.

"The crew," the Colonel confessed. "I didn't want to give her a name without your approval."

She was silent for several minutes as she scanned the list of names. It had been a subject, the PADD recordings of her logs had told her, she had discussed with the Colonel months before and that he had dutifully recorded all the names members of the crew had offered. But there were names they had liked, she remembered that for herself, if not what they were, until she spotted them. "These are acceptable," she decreed suddenly, pointing at two names.

"Sure you don't want Zarinray, L'Lreth or Diazesra?" The Colonel quizzed.

"She is human. She requires human names," Seven of Nine declared resolutely.

"Thank you!" He whispered. "Names I can spell!"

Before she could respond he had leant forward and dipped his fingers in a glass of water. "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. I christen thee Mary Kathryn." As he made the announcement he dabbed a wet finger on the child's forehead. 

"Now that's done. I think we can predict the Captain's directions. May I escort you home? I'll bring the baggage, if you are happy with Mary."

  


"Now make yourself comfortable," the Colonel suggested as they entered her quarters. 

"May I get you anything, Ma'am? A cup of tea, perhaps?" He asked, as Seven of Nine settled into a chair.

"My condition is satisfactory," Seven confirmed.

"In that case. I will wish you good night, Ma'am," he said quietly. Bowing before her, he hurried out, leaving Seven of Nine to ponder his attitude in continued confusion.

She had wanted his company. Yet he had denied it. She was almost certain he had never done that before.

Seven of Nine had never been good at understanding emotions. She knew she had suffered and sometimes enjoyed many of them, but still found it difficult to identify all but the most base and obvious in others. The Colonel was often the most difficult to understand. Hiding much behind an assurance that could carry others. Only afterwards did he allow those feelings to gain control. She had been allowed to help him on occasions, she remembered.

The mark on her finger where the wedding ring had been, finally reminded her of their discussion five days ago and hinted at what he was suffering. Nerves!

He had promised her time to decide. Freedom from him. If she wanted it.

The realisation snapped her own entries into her logs in place and she headed for the door.

  


She found him, as she had expected, laying on the floor of Cargo Bay 2, a thin blanket over him and his flak jacket neatly rolled and under his head, asleep.

Silently she removed the blanket, placed the baby on his chest, and covered both again.

She watched as a protective arm encircled it. 

Spotting the string around his neck she stooped to pull it out. A hand appeared and gripped her by the wrist, stopping her.

"Do you know. I've realised. The one thing I've ever really wanted, is the one thing I will always be too scared to accept or ask for," he said sleepily.

"Explain."

"Love," he said simply. "I keep having this wonderful dream. I meet this beautiful woman, that I fall in love with and promise to care for until my dying breath. Except it turns into a nightmare. Either she is taken from me, because I failed in my promise. She realises it was all a mistake. Or sometimes I am just too scared to accept what I see and take her in my arms and it drives her away. Which one will it be tonight?"

"None," Seven of Nine assured him. "I wish the return of the ring."

His eye's snapped open and sat bolt upright. "Are you sure?" He demanded, more sharply than he had intended.

"It will prevent the third scenario in your dream occurring," Seven observed.

"And the other two?"

"I have noted you have rarely broken a promise. The second would be an error on the part of the female," Seven of Nine declared with conviction.

She finally managed to snatch the string and haul the ring into view along with the leather bag. Not bothering to untie the knot, she ripped the cord from the stitching where it joined the leather, retrieved the ring and slid it firmly on her finger.

"Your stitching was inferior," she chided, examining the reinstated ring with satisfaction. "It would fail catastrophically. We will return to our quarters and I will correct the defect."

The Colonel smiled. "Still the harsh woman, Mrs Nine? I'm coming as ordered. But don't bother about the goodies bag. I don't think you'd fit and I have something much better in mind."

  


The bruised and battered Voyager limped into orbit over Trafoil, ready to take the place still openly offered by Zarrathkal in his orbiting shipyards. It saw the Captain in the Transporter Room again, watching the small gaggle of crew waiting anxiously to resume their interrupted leave. But there were a few loose ends to deal with first.

There were three burly members of the Trafoil militia present to help with those.

First to arrive was Kathlaw, looking nervous.

The Captain smiled encouragingly. "You don't have to go back to Branag?" She offered. 

"Your race is one of the most disgusting, conniving, evil minded and cruel species I've ever met. But I find it hard to think of you as one of them. You've done a lot to help us and others in this sector over the last few days," she continued. "The Trafoil authorities have agreed not to prosecute, now you've supplied details of how to combat the Branag weapons."

Kathlaw shook her head sadly. "They would find me," she said in resignation. "But some of the technologies I have found may help us to stop being so bad?"

"Perhaps," the Captain agreed.

The next to be brought forward was Nine of Fourteen, held firmly between two security guards.

"Please, Captain. Don't let them return me!" He pleaded.

Her face clouded at the memory of his treachery. "I'm not pressing charges against you for what you did to my crew," she hissed. "In fact I think I've done you a favour. I am preventing both the Branag and Lathran forces getting to you. Let alone some of my own crew! Now get off my ship!"

The lizard man was taken by the Militia and along with Kathlaw, they stepped upon the transport pad, ready to go.

"Hold Hard!" The Colonel's shout, as he entered the room, stopped the Captain's energise order in her throat.

"If you could spare a moment, Ma'am?" The Colonel requested. "Mrs Nine had something for Miss Kathlaw. She'll be here in a mo'."

"Not still thinking of leaving us, Colonel?" The Captain asked, spotting the pack on his back.

The Colonel grinned. "Not at the moment, Ma'am. Thought Mrs Nine and I could go on a picnic. I think we've found a nice quiet place. You are welcome to join us?"

"I'm not leaving the ship," The Captain declared. "There is nobody to look after it."

"There is lots of them," the Colonel chided gently. "You have a perfectly capable Second Officer in his quarters. Commander Chakotay, several Bridge Watches. If you can't find two to look after your vessel for a few hours, then shame on you."

Seven of Nine held up a small case to Kathlaw. "These are the nanoprobes you requested," she offered. "I was in error when making a statement to you aboard your vessel."

Kathlaw looked puzzled as she accepted the case.

"Pregnancy," Seven of Nine explained. "It was an interesting experience. Offspring are pleasurable."

Kathlaw's face broke into a smile as she dematerialised.

It left Seven of Nine with one other thought on her mind and she sensed a remedy amongst those waiting for departure.

"Crewman Naomi Wildman. I am informed that is usual for an infant to have at least one, 'God Parent'. I wish you to perform the role?"

"Acknowledged!" Naomi mimicked, then blushed furiously. 

"Can Mommy be one too?" She stuttered, looking up at her mother.

"Acknowledged."

  


  
  


  



End file.
